


Afternoonified

by IambicKentameter



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anachronistic views on homosexuality, Anal Sex, Awkward Sex, Awkward wedding night, Businessman!Jojen, Canon Disabled Character, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Tyrion and Sansa are married but only for politics, Virgin!Bran, Virgin!Jojen, Wedding, but oh well I want them to be happy, first time fic, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9912941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IambicKentameter/pseuds/IambicKentameter
Summary: Afternoonified: A Victorian slang term meaning something or someone is smart.Example: The handsome, blond, afternoonified man proposed to Bran upon meeting him, catching him by surprise. After all, why would any self respecting businessman from London want to marry a crippled recluse from one of England's most noble families? And why did he have to bring his sister?





	1. Late September, 1841

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! I'm going to try to update once a week, because of school and all. Thank you all so much for your continued support.

**Late September, 1841**

Bran Stark lived in a seemingly quaint estate in a sequestered, rural area just outside of London called Reading, Berkshire. His estate was 1,115 square metres, which, by Urban standards, was considered very large indeed, but was considered quaint by other wealthy families in the area because of its unusual architectural feature: It consisted of only a single floor. The kitchens and the master bedroom were deemed unnaturally close, as there was not a flight of stairs or two separating them, and this was for one very unique purpose: Master Bran had been crippled since he was a boy.

By the time he was 19 years old, his parents had built him that great house, and sent off any other Stark children that didn’t feel like living at home to live with the second youngest boy; Arya, who came because the wide open yet sequestered lands would give her ample opportunities to practice her swordplay and wear trousers; Sansa, who loved the fresh air and the distance from her husband; and Jon, who preferred living in a country estate when he wasn’t busy fighting England’s battles.

On one cool fall morning, the air crisp and hinting of the winter to come, Bran wheeled himself out into their backyard to find his sister, Arya, hacking away at her swordplay instructor very loudly.

“Arya!” Bran shouted from their back porch, interrupting her fencing lesson and causing her to stumble and allow Sandor Clegane, her instructor, to land a hit.

“Damn, Bran!” She snapped, picking herself up and brushing off the still drying mud from her dress. Arya hated wearing dresses with a passion, but Bran insisted she at least begin the day with something presentable, in case they were to have any unexpected visitors before noon. “You’ve gone and made me lose.”

“You were faltering.” Sandor growled like The Hound he was famously rumoured to be. 

“Osha’s finished breakfast, I’d appreciate you joining us.”

“I’m starved.” She stuck her foil into the dirt and it stood on its own. “What has she made for us today?”

“Fruits, mostly. Scones, as well.” Bran lead his sister in and they sat at the dining table together. They were joined shortly by Sandor, Osha, and Hodor, leaving out no one in the house from their meal, and therefore, leaving no one to answer the door when the knocking began.

“Osha, could you-”

“I’ll get it.” Arya interrupted Bran in the middle of him asking. “I’ve ordered a new tunic from in town, I can only imagine that would be it.”

Bran watched her scamper off and open the front door, but the general noise coming from that end of the house didn’t sound much like accepting an order. It sounded a whole hell of a lot more like inviting someone in.

Everyone at the table was suddenly up and back to business, Hodor helping Osha clear the dishes and Sandor fleeing outside to his own domain.

Overwhelmed with curiosity, Bran wheeled his way into the living room, where they typically greeted guests. 

His sister was standing in the doorway, but he could peer around her just enough to see a young gentleman, about his own age and dressed to the nines, dark cravat laced around his neck and a forest green tailcoat not practical for outdoor traveling, implying they’d taken some sort of carriage or transport with a roof. The woman he was with, who was already sitting on one of their less assuming couches, dressed in a green brocade dress to match the man’s, didn’t even have a bonnet. Her hair was cut short, just like Arya’s, and hardly styled at all but with natural ringlets abound.

“Ah, speak of the devil.” Arya said when she finally noticed her brother lingering behind her. “This is my brother Brandon Stark VI. I’ll leave you three to speak.” And with that, she spun round and made to exit the room. 

Bran caught his sister’s arm as she passed. “Arya, who are these people?”

“Mister Reed is an industrialist.” Arya whispered. “He seems to be some sort of toy maker or some such nonsense. The woman with him is his sister.”

“Then what is he doing here?” Bran hissed back at his youngest sister.

“Ask him yourself, I’m not your errand boy.” Arya scoffed before strutting away, leaving Bran quite stranded in his own living room.

Bran sighed before rolling himself up to their guests. “Hello, I'm Brandon Stark, Master of the house.” He offered his hand.

The Miss Reed took it graciously and he kissed the air above her knuckles before offering his hand to the Mister Reed.

Mister Reed took it and gave him a firm shake. “I’m Jojen Reed, and this is my sister, Meera.”

“It’s good to meet you.” Bran responded. “What brings you to my home?”

“Business matters, actually.” He said, removing his gloves. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

“My living room should do just fine.” Bran pointed down the hall. “Will your sister be joining us?”

Meera Reed answered for herself. “I thought I’d take a walk about your grounds with your younger sister.”

Bran snorted, then cleared his throat. “She’s two years my elder, I’ll have you know. And she’d certainly have something to say if she heard you.”

Meera’s smile took too many characteristics of a smirk for Bran’s liking. “Your older sister, then. She went out that door?” She pointed. 

“Yes, she should be out in the backyard, practicing her… dancing.” Bran bowed his head as a goodbye to her, and once she had taken her leave, he led her brother to his living room, as promised. 

“Thank you very much for meeting with me.” Jojen took a seat on one of three couches in the great room. “I can’t imagine you would know what this is concerning.”

“I could guess.” Bran rolled to a stop in his favorite spot. “You are an industrialist, that much my sister told me.”

“I own a factory that makes children’s toys, yes. It’s been quite successful in the city, but would be considerably more fiscally responsible to build a second factory in the countryside rather than another in the city.”

“What is your plan, then? To buy my land from under me and build up one of your great factories?” Bran sipped his tea sullenly, seemingly victorious. He’d figured out what this Reed boy wanted, and he wasn’t wrong, as Jojen Reed was about to reveal.

“You’re not wrong.” He revealed. “Except for the bit where I buy the land from under you. I have a strong intuition that tells me we could go about this together, and as this land of yours is barren and can’t be used for farming anyway, we could, perhaps, use it for something a bit more prosperous.”

Bran frowned into his teacup. “How do you plan on taking the land from me, if you’re not going to buy it?”

Jojen Reed was suspiciously silent.

Bran, not wanting to give this young man the attention he so clearly wanted, didn’t look at him until a glint of light caught his eye and drew his attention to a shining golden band that laid on a cushion-lined box that was in turn being gripped in Jojen Reed’s clammy palm.  _ Why are his hands clammy? _ Bran wondered to himself, until it hit him what this young man was doing.

“Are you… proposing to me?” He asked, just to be sure.

“I am.” Jojen cleared his throat and fumbled for a moment before moving part of his waistcoat out of the way with the hand not holding the ring and using that minimal freedom to bend to one knee.

“Are you patronizing me?” Bran scoffed; Mister Reed had just made himself shorter than Bran.

“What?” Jojen Reed balked. “No, no, not at all, this… this  _ is _ what people do when they’re proposing, isn’t it? The tradition hasn’t changed?”

The corner of Bran’s mouth quirked upwards. “If you’re going to be my husband, you should get quite used to my teasing.”

Jojen blinked at him for a moment, before a smile broke across his features. “It’s lovely to meet you, Brandon Stark.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jojen Reed.”

~*~

“Oh, of course they should stay with us until the wedding!” Sansa exclaimed over dinner when Arya had the good sense to be the first one to ask where the Reeds would be staying until the wedding. “We have plenty of extra rooms, it shouldn’t be an imposition at all!”

“We haven’t brought anything with us.” Meera frowned slightly. “Just ourselves. And a wedding band, apparently.” She said this in such a way that implied she was not privy to the fact that Jojen came here with every intention to propose.

“We only live a four hour ride away, Meera.” Jojen pointed out. “We’ll go home after dinner and pack our things. It shouldn’t take long, and we should be back by morning.” He gave Bran a shy smile. “If that’s alright with you, that we should return so quickly.”

Before Bran could speak, however, his eldest sister spoke first. “It would be preferable!” She beamed. “Oh, please do return as quickly as possible. That way we can begin planning tomorrow afternoon at the absolute latest.”

“I… agree.” Bran said slowly, making sure he wouldn’t be interrupted by any of his siblings. “If you don’t mind, Jojen, where in London do you live that you can pick up and leave at the drop of a hat?”

“We live in a flat.” Jojen answered casually. “Our father moved us around a lot as children, and as such, we have no family home.”

“Shame.” The Hound grunted, half a chicken leg still in his mouth.

Arya nudged him, realizing his sarcasm. “Don’t be cruel.”

The table went quiet for a long moment, and Jojen’s gaze drifted to Bran. Bran nodded slightly, acknowledging him. “Osha, I’ll need your help of course, but I can make up two rooms for you tonight. Consider those rooms yours from now on.”

“I can't thank you enough, Bran.” Jojen beamed at him from across the table.

When it came time to begin going to sleep, Osha and Hodor made their rounds, lighting fires and tucking in the three Stark children they were technically in charge of.

It took awhile for the house and all of the members in it to settle down and begin to fall asleep, but once the time had passed and the house was silent, there was a soft knock on his door.

Bran turned over at the sound of his bedroom door opening, and a tiny halo of candlelight preceding Jojen in his nightclothes.

“What are you doing in here?” Bran pushed himself up into a sitting position and leaned against the headboard of his bed.

“Do you find your rooms as cold as I find mine?” Jojen answered his question with a question, circling Bran’s bed to the side that Bran preferred. 

“It’s always cold in the wintertime.” Bran protested. “I’ve gotten used to it. Did Osha or Hodor light your fireplace?”

Jojen shook his head.

“That’s a pity then.” He pointed to where his own fire had dwindled down to umbers. “It helps, having a fire in the room.”

“Well, I can’t very well call on them at this hour.” Jojen set his candle on Bran’s nightstand. “Perhaps I could just stay in here for the night.”

Bran shook his head. “I can’t have that, Jojen.”

The other boy frowned. “And why’s that?”

“We’re engaged, not married. Can you imagine the kind of talk there would be?”

“Among whom? Sansa and Meera?” Jojen snorted.

“The worst kind, that is.” Bran chuckled. “I’m very sorry your rooms are cold, Jojen. Please, take your pick of any of my blankets. There are more in the closet.”

Jojen sighed. “You’re quite accommodating.”

“You say that like it’s a terrible thing.”

“It is when I have ulterior motives.” Jojen’s eyes lifted to meet Bran’s. 

Bran frowned in confusion and studied the other boy carefully, watched the hands that were still folded in his lap, the nightgown that hiked up near his knees. “We-”

Jojen leaned forward suddenly, his lips pressing to Bran’s in a petal-soft peck.

But before he could pull away, as he had clearly planned, Bran’s fingers were buried in his hair, pulling him closer, only to be foiled by how constrictive Jojen’s nightgown truly was.

“Shit…” Jojen managed to curse before he lost his balance and toppled to the floor, accidentally taking Bran with him. Bran landed atop him, their chests pressed together diagonally, their legs askew. “I’m so sorry, Bran.”

Bran chuckled. “I’m not hurt, I’m fine. If anything, this is my fault.” He tilted his head so he could see Jojen’s face. “I wasn’t expecting that, for sure.”

“And what were you expecting?” The corner of Jojen’s lips quirked up.

“I was expecting to scold you for even thinking about coming in my room under false pretenses, and send you on your merry way.”

“But my mouth was entirely too irresistible?” He smirked.

“Only after it was introduced to mine.” Bran wiggled his way up onto his elbows and hovered over Jojen, their noses bumping tenderly. 

Jojen tilted his head slightly and brushed Bran’s lips. “I couldn’t resist.” He whispered between the tiny chaste kisses Bran was bestowing upon him. “They looked so full, and soft. I had to see how they’d feel against mine.” 

“And are they?” He hummed.

“Undoubtedly.” Jojen answered before deepening their kisses, erasing any kind of chastity left over from before. He nipped at Bran’s bottom lip, warming him up before rolling over him and effectively switching their positions. He straddled the other boy and Pecked His lips several times consecutively.

“Jojen.” Bran said, interrupting his affections.

“Is something wrong?”

“Quite the opposite, actually.” Bran’s hands rested on the tops of Jojen’s thighs. “And I am in fact quite confused. My mother once told my sister, Sansa, that marriage comes first and love is sure to follow after.”

“I don't see where this trail of thought leads.” Jojen smirked nonetheless. “Where do you believe that you are at fault?”

“Because I am quite halfway to the latter already.”

“Then the former should be the easy part.” Jojen pecked his lips again before starting to sit up. “Let me help you back into bed, but then I must return to my own. I probably won’t see you tomorrow morning, we’re leaving quite early.” He stood and lifted Bran into a bridal carry in order to lay him back in his bed.

“That's quite alright. I’ll see you in a few days?”

“As quickly as I can.” Jojen pecked his lips one last time before disappearing into the night.

~*~

Jojen and Meera returned two days later, a full twenty-four hours after they said they’d be back. Arya was more put off by it than Bran.

“What took you two so long?” She huffed, arms crossed over an old tunic she’d ‘borrowed’ from Bran.

“We had considerably more packing to do than we thought.” Meera explained, gesturing to the pile on top of and trailing behind their carriage.

“That’s quite a lot of luggage.” Arya mused, eyebrows raised in fascination. “how on earth can two people amass so much luggage, especially when you claim to move around so much.”

“Our father left much behind.” Meera explained. “That, and Jojen has a compulsive need to shop when he's feeling anxious.”

“We should be expecting several new shirts and shoes arriving in the next few days.” Jojen added, trailing in behind his sister. “Should we help Hodor?”

Arya shrugged. “Just come to breakfast. Sansa has practically been dragging Bran through the wedding preparations kicking and screaming. I think he may need some sort of backup.”

“That explains why he looked in a foul mood when we arrived.” Jojen removed his gloves and tucked them away in his pocket while being led into the house. “It can’t be all bad.”

“I assure you, it is.” Bran grumbled.

“Is it the dancing?” Jojen asked. 

“It’s the dancing.”

“Well, we can’t have you feeling terrible your first morning here.” Jojen frowned. “What would  _ you _ like to do today? Anything, you name it.”

Bran gave him a shy smile. “I’d like to go riding. Show you the land in all of its size and beauty.”

“...Brandon, not to be entirely rude…” Jojen stopped in his tracks. “But can you ride?” He asked, a bit suspicious.

“I have a special saddle.” Bran rolled himself backwards and into the dining room, Jojen then following close behind. “Sansa’s husband gave it to me when I was a boy, just after I was paralyzed.”

“Then that’s what we should do.” Jojen said, smiling.

“Is that them?” Sansa called from the dining room before trailing into the hall to greet their most honoured guests. “Hello! I’m glad you’re finally here. We’ve been planning all morning, and we’ve decided on a summer wedding.”

“Summer, yes.” He suddenly seemed quite out of place, and completely at a loss for words.  _ Perhaps all his power comes from his perception that he’s in control of his schedule.  _ Bran speculated to himself. “We are to stay here through the winter and spring, of course.”

“Of course.” She echoed. “I would expect nothing less of you. This is your home now, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Do you… do you live here?” Meera interjected.

Sansa frowned at her for a pregnant moment, contemplating her. “I do occasionally. When My husband’s in town and not away on business.”

“I don’t think you’ve seen him since the honeymoon.” Arya said flippantly, earning her a cold glare from her sister.

“And I don’t care to.” Sansa said stiffly.

The entire table was silent, stunned into such a state by the cold hard stare of the young woman at the head of the table.

Finally, Bran spoke. “Sansa, you were saying something about a non-traditional colour scheme for the wedding before The Reeds arrived? I was intrigued.” Any lie was worth putting everyone back in the right spirit. 

“Oh yes! White is so blase so I was thinking perhaps a quadruple colour scheme with a light grey underlining the navy blue aspect, as well as forest green and perhaps black. Oh, but about the actual party portion of the evening, I’m thinking that we could go traditional. There would be food, and dancing-”

“Again with the fucking dancing!” Arya spat out the juice she’d been sipping directly into her plate in a show of her disapproval. “Gods, what a horrible idea.”

“Arya, mind your manners.” Sansa chastised, handing over a napkin for her sister’s benefit. Arya used it to blow her nose, if only to bother her eldest and only sister. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

“It’s my wedding, Sansa, and I have to agree with Arya. Dancing is no good, and it’s very distasteful- I’m sorry Meera, but it’s true- to suggest such a thing.” He tapped on the arm of his wheelchair impatiently.

“You and I wouldn’t be doing any dancing, of course.” Jojen assured him. “We’ll be together at the head of the table for next to the entire reception, receiving gifts and well wishes. I can only assume it will take all night.”

“It will only take that long if we throw a truly exciting party.” Sansa insisted. “I want you two to be happy, and we should start it off with a truly marvelous celebration. Don’t want you ending up like me and my dreadful hus-”

The wedding-planning-over-breakfast talk came thankfully to a halt when there was a knock at the door. 

Jojen and Meera looked around the table, confused. “Who could that be?”

Bran snorted. “Could be anyone, honestly. There are six of us, and our mother, and our adopted brother Theon… Then there’s our tutors, or even-”

“Could someone answer the door, please?” Sansa barked, cutting off her younger brother.

“I will.” Arya stood and ran for the door. The rest of them listened to the door open, and Arya squealed for the first time in  _ years.  _ “Robb! Jon!”

“Well hello, little lady.” Robb swept her up into his arms and swung her around in circles. 

“Is Jon here as well?” Sansa stood and rushed to their half-brother’s side. “You’ve returned from the war!”

“Not the war, dear sister. No war to fight.”

“So Tyrion has come with you?” A look of abject terror passed over her face.

“Hells no.” Jon scoffed. “He’s highly decorated. Someone’s got to stay back and train the soldiers.”

“Then how come you’ve come back?” Arya asked.

“There’s a difference between being a good soldier and a highly decorated one. Decorated soldiers are asked to stay. But with good soldiers, you couldn’t stop them if they tried to leave.”

“Please, join us for breakfast.” Arya insisted. “We’ve just sat down.”

“Excellent, I’m starved.” Robb grinned and barged into the dining room, only to stop in his tracks upon noticing a stranger at the breakfast table.

Jojen took the first move, standing and wiping his mouth with a napkin before offering his hand. “My name is Jojen Reed, I’d be surprised if you hadn’t heard of me.”

“I haven’t.” Robb said, matter-of-factly.

“Jojen is my Fiance.” Bran said. “Robb is my brother, he’s been off fighting for the crown. I’m sure he has a litany of reasons for not receiving my letters.”

“England is in a time of peace.” Jojen sat down again, returning to his breakfast. 

“But there are always soldiers needing training.”

“Robb, please sit.” Bran urged.

He did, but only after Jon and Arya had returned from the entrance hall and also seated themselves, Arya yammering on about all kinds of nonsense, catching both of the brothers up on all of the things that had happened in the last few weeks.

“Sorry, Arya.” Robb interrupted after a healthy chunk of time. “But I have a question for Mister Reed.”

“Of course.” Jojen set down his fork and knife. “Ask away.”

“Why Bran?”

Most of the table frowned, some out of confusion and others at the utter rudeness of the question. 

“I’m sorry.” Jojen’s frown was a bit of both. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.”

“He’s quite unremarkable really.” Robb began. “No sort of beauty that you’d have heard about all the way in London. He’s the third in line to get any sort of inheritance, and this land is barren. Now, you could build on it and all, but you could marry Arya for that.”

“Robb-” Sansa tried, but there was no stopping him now.

Robb’s voice had adopted a cruel manner of laughing. “He’s crippled, for christs’ sake!”

“That’s enough!” Arya barked. The air settled in the silence to something tense and spined.

Jojen, on the other hand, seemed unphased. “You raise some interesting points, Robb Stark.” He was stroking the tines of his fork idly. “However, I find myself partial to men. That, and Bran and I have a partnership, a friendship, even, dare I say, after only knowing each other a single day. We have a connection.” He said calmly. “Perhaps you disapprove of my persuasion, or even of my character, but both of those are issues of my own making, and are no fault of Bran’s.”

Bran’s hand found Jojen’s knee under the table and squeezed it, both as a thank you and as a warning to quit while he was ahead. 

“I like him.” Jon said through a mouthful of toast and jam. “He’s got a stiff upper lip.”

“Now, not that this hasn’t been lovely, meeting you all,” Jojen stood from his place at the table. “But I did promise Bran we’d go riding this morning, and I’m afraid I’ve left that promise hanging in the wind for far too long.”

“But you’ve only been here an hour!” Sansa protested. “You haven’t even seen your rooms.”

“I saw them when I was first here, not two days ago.” Jojen shook his head. “I can look upon them when we return. Bran?”

Bran took that as his cue to roll himself away from the table and make a beeline for the back door. “Hodor? Mr. Clegane? Will you help us tack up the horses?”

They both responded in each of their likes, Hodor with his own name and Sandor with something resembling a kurt ‘fine.’ 

“Thank god for your promises, boy.” Sandor shot in Jojen’s direction the moment they were out of earshot of Sansa. “If I had to hear any more about your damn wedding, I’d have put that table on its head.”

Jojen blinked at him. “I got the same impression from Bran this morning. The wedding isn't for months, we should hold off on planning.”

“If anything, the planning should be down to Jojen and I.” 

“Or just tell your sister to shut her mouth.” Sandro scowled before lifting Bran easily and settling him in his special saddle. “There we are, master Bran.” 

“The buckles need to be done up, Mr. Clegane.” Bran reminded him. 

“Buckles?” Jojen peered at the strange contraption that allowed Bran to ride.

“They keep my legs in place, so I don’t fall over or anything else terrible.” Bran shared proudly. This invention had given him more pleasure than anything else: It allowed him to appear, at first glance, that he was just like any other rider. It also let him ride, which was one of his favorite things to do, when the dreary english weather allowed it.

“What a spectacular invention!” Jojen mused. “Shall we go?” 

Bran nodded in agreement, and patted his horse on the neck to begin their ride.

They rode in relative silence, only the sounds of their horses hoofs and the general sounds of nature surrounding them.

They eventually came to a stop next to a creek that marked the end of Bran’s property, their horses bending their heads for a sip from the stream. This is when Jojen chose to speak up and break their silence. “Bran, what did you mean when what you said that we should do the planning?”

Bran shrugged. “I'm not sure what you mean by that.”

“I'm not actually sure what planning a wedding entails. I'm the eldest of two, and my parents were never very forthcoming with information about my more distant relations.”

“In my experience, the one in the family who’s the most interested in the whole process is usually the one to plan the ordeal.” Bran chuckled. “the first wedding I actually participated in was when I was 11. Robb married when he was 18, and a 13 year old Sansa planned most of the event. She planned her own wedding as well.”

“I don't want anything too extravagant.” Jojen said, shaking his head at Bran’s story. 

“You and I will have the final say in what happens, this I can assure you.”

“That’s very comforting.” Jojen encouraged his horse closer to Bran’s. “Should we return home? I have much to unpack.”

“The Sun’s not even setting yet.” Bran held back a pout. “We’ve only just begun our ride, and I haven’t even shown the rest of the land to you. How will you know where it is best to build your factory?”

“There is time, Bran.” Jojen rested a hand atop of Bran’s. “We can go out tomorrow, or the next day. Or both, even, if you wish.”

“Both would be lovely.” Bran gave him a rare bright smile.

“Then lead our way back. Might I ask a bath of your household? The travel of this morning quite needs to be washed off, I think.”

“After you unpack, it is yours.” Bran promised him, before patting the sides of his horse’s neck with his hands, encouraging her forward.

They rode back to the house, and once Bran was settled once again in his chair, they made their way to Jojen’s room, where Bran left him in favor of retreating to his library.

However, Jojen’s soft exhalation of “shit” brought his attention back to his fiancè. 

“Everything alright?” He asked, rolling back to Jojen’s side. “Oh.”

Apparently, Osha had piled up Jojen’s trunks around his bed, probably out of spite for making her carry it all the way to his room all by herself, even if Jojen had offered to help.

“It seems I've been blocked in.” Jojen sighed.

“I'm so sorry, I'll make her-”

“No, don't  _ make _ her do anything, it's fine. I can unpack by myself anyhow.”

“Are you sure I can't help you?” Bran asked, cautious. They did just spend the majority of the day together, but they hadn't spoken much, so whether or not Jojen was looking for some time alone was beyond him.

“I would appreciate it, actually.” Jojen smiled, opening up his first trunk. “Ah, this one’s mostly clothes. If you could put them in the dresser?”

“Of course.” Bran laid as much as he could on his lap, transported it to the dresser, and began organizing it the same way he organized his: shirts on the left, pants on the right, underthings in the top drawer that spanned the entire upper part of the dresser.

Jojen opened the next trunk before sighing in absolute dejection. “Of course. Three trunks full of books and nowhere to put them.”

“I'll handle this.” Bran said shortly, barely looking up from his work.

“What?” Jojen’s head snapped up.

Bran rolled himself backwards into the hallway with ease. “Hodor!” He called down the hall for his manservant. 

“Hodor?” Came the diligent response.

“Hodor, could you please bring one of my bookshelves in here? Jojen needs somewhere to store all of this.”

“Oh, no, Bran, please.” Jojen insisted. “I’ve got plenty of storage for them, I should just keep them in the box, really-”

“Jojen, It will be  _ months _ before we move into a room to share. You deserve a comfortable, semi-personal space to call your own.” Bran insisted.

“If you insist.” Jojen shrugged.

Before long, Hodor had dragged an entire empty bookshelf into Jojen’s new quarters and Jojen was loading his collection onto its shelves, while Bran continued to help him sort his clothing to the best of his ability.

They worked in silence for the next hour, until finally Osha came in to let them know that Jojen’s bath was ready. 

Bran waited until he’d been gone for at least a few minutes before rolling his way outside, to the back porch, where it had already begun to drizzle lightly.

“Bran?” Arya interrupted his solitude, one of her small, calloused hands resting on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be out in weather like this.”

He sighed. “Am I to be the wife?”

“Excuse me?”

“Am I to be Jojen’s wife? Confined to this house all day and all night, even more so than I already am? Am I to take orders from him, like Sansa is expected to from her husband?”

“Sansa doesn’t have to do much for her husband, she’s here.”

“This house is a refuge for us all. You get to wear pants, I get to roam freely, and Sansa gets to evade her family-in-law. But what if this marriage takes away my freedom?”

“I highly doubt Jojen will do anything of the sort.” Arya reassured him.

“We’ve only known him two days.”

“So give him some more time. Now stop worrying and come inside before you catch a cold.”


	2. Chapter 2: Early October, 1841

**Early October, 1841**

It wasn’t until a week later that he showed any sort of symptoms. 

“Bran, please.” Robb implored him over breakfast. “You need some rest, some hot soup, please.”

“I’m fine, Robb, don’t-” Bran paused to sneeze. “Worry about me. I’m fine.”

“You’re sick.” Jojen scolded. “And you should stay in bed.”

“As opposed to what, running about in the back yard? Perhaps a pickup game of polo?” Bran shot back.

“I could run a bath for ‘im.” Osha offered. “A nice warm bath should clear out ‘is sinuses.”

“Thank you, Osha. That would be quite welcome.” Bran gave her the tiniest smile. 

It wasn't long before Hodor was helping him into his chair and he was rolling down the hall to the bathroom, where he would undress himself and haul himself into the tub. 

He finished washing himself relatively quickly; he hadn’t done much in the last few days to require bathing, and therefore not much work had to be done. 

He gradually relaxed, sinking into the water and breathing in the steam, letting it clear his mind and soothe his body until his eyes drifted closed.

Not a single full minute passed before the bathroom door swung open without even a knock, and Jojen strode in.

“Jojen?” Bran exclaimed, covering himself as quickly as he could with his hands. “What the hell?!”

“Oh, sorry.” Jojen said very unapologetically, and closed the door behind him.

“What do you think you’re doing in here?!” Bran hissed.

“I'm doing some washing up before dinner. You’ve been in here for awhile now, you’re going to shrivel up.” Jojen went to the sink and rinsed his hands briefly, then ran wet fingers through his hair to tame it.

“You can’t be in here.” Bran frowned. “Jojen, we talked about this weeks ago. We’re not married yet.”

“That doesn’t mean a whole lot. It’s not like you’re a woman, it’s not as if you’re  _ expected _ to remain pure until your wedding day.” Jojen sat on the edge of the tub, looming over Bran. “It’s not the end of the world if you engage in a bit of-”

“Jojen, I’m sick.” Bran said gently, laying one wet hand on the other’s. “You could help me out of the tub, help me into my nightclothes, but after that-”

“Of course.” Jojen graced him with a gentle smile. “Let me get your nightclothes and a warm robe, you drain the water.”

“Thank you.” Bran reached for the drain and unplugged it, and by the time Jojen returned, he had his lower half mostly dried, thanks to a towel that Osha had left within arms reach. 

“I see you’ve already made a good deal of progress.” Jojen shut the door behind him tightly, locking it to make sure that no one would walk in and start throwing  _ assumptions _ around. He took the towel from Bran and dried his back quickly and efficiently, trying not to stare too much. He helped Bran dress, somewhat awkwardly, as he’d never had to do it before, but they eventually managed to get Bran back in his chair and comfortable.

“Thank you.” Bran said softly, taking one of Jojen’s hands cautiously. “I never thought someone other than Hodor or Osha would be willing to… help.”

“Of course.” Jojen frowned. “I’m not a very traditional person, Bran. I need you to know that. I’m binding myself to you by law and in the eyes of the gods for the rest of our lives. I would be a man of poor spirit if I couldn’t at least help you out of the bath.”

Bran boosted himself up with his arms and stole a brief kiss from Jojen’s lips before falling back into his chair again. 

“I’ll help you to your room. You’re sick, you’re weak, you need your rest.”

“I’d insist that I can wheel myself, but you’re right. I appreciate it.” Bran smiled up at him. Jojen rounded behind him and helped him down the hallway, back to his room. He shut the door behind himself, allowing Bran to wheel himself away to his bedside now that Jojen had foolishly let go of his chair. 

~*~

It took a good three weeks before Bran felt fully up to speed again, but of course it would rain the entire first week that he could drag himself out of bed, thereby restricting him to activities that took place indoors-only. No riding, like he’d hoped he’d finally be able to do, and certainly no going out to the patio to watch his sister sparr with her new and beloved partner, one Meera Reed.

So Bran resigned himself to the library, where he could sit in front of the fire and read some of the new books that had been added to his collection, thanks to Jojen and his three boxes of books, but also his compulsive shopping habit that had deliveries arriving at their house at least once a week.

_ What’s his is mine, after all. _ Bran thought smugly while taking yet another of Jojen’s books off of the shelf without asking. Unfortunately, one of the neighboring books decided that it, too, wanted to join in the fun, and it toppled to the ground. Bran sighed and set the book he’d originally wanted on a nearby table. Of course, this would happen to him. He used one arm to push himself as far up and over the arm of his chair as possible so the opposite hand could swoop down and snatch the rogue book from the floor.

He set it beside his intended book, and went to grab the other, when he noticed a thin sheet of paper spread out over the table, the edges held down by various objects. 

He squinted at them. Upon closer inspection, they appeared to be rough sketches of a building, but with no label or distinguishing features.

He shrugged it off and rolled back next to the fireplace, so he could finally enjoy a new novel.

He was able to enjoy his quiet afternoon of reading for several hours until someone unknown covered Bran’s eyes from behind and ducked down to whisper in his ear. “Good morning.”

“It’s three in the afternoon.” Bran responded flatly. “And I’m trying to read.”

Jojen frowned slightly. “Well you seem nippy. What’s wrong?”

Bran shook his head silently, shutting his book and laying it down in the seat of the chair beside him. He made his way over to the table that Jojen had claimed in the library and shuffled some papers around. “What’s this?” Despite his outward attitude, his question was one out of curiosity, rather than animosity or accusation.

“Plans.” Jojen answered simply. “For the factory.”

“Oh.” Bran said softly before rolling away. With all the wedding plans, falling ill, and quiet afternoons in the library, he’d almost forgotten that this marriage was an arrangement. “I thought as much.” Bran said dully, shifting his gaze to his lap.

Jojen approached him cautiously and laid a hand on the back of Bran’s chair. “Is there something wrong with them? Do you not like them?”

Bran shook his head.

“Then what is it?”

“I can’t quite put my finger on it. It feels like… Inevitability?” Bran shrugged. “I guess it reminds me that we aren’t getting married for love, that this is an  _ arrangement. _ This is a deal, and I’m being shorted.”

“Woah, woah, how are you getting the short end? I am a  _ catch _ !” Jojen protested, teasing, of course.

“But you’re getting land, and very old money, and a permanent home. What do I get in return? God, my parents are going to  _ kill _ me when they figure out what a shit deal this is. I’ve brokered the worst marriage of the family! Worse than Robb, and he married a lower class woman-- for  _ love _ !”

“Hey!” Jojen snapped, kneeling down and effectively putting himself below Bran. “You have something very important to me, something that no one else has ever had.” He cupped Bran’s knees with both hands. “You have my heart, Brandon. You’ve stolen it, and I’m not leaving here without it.”

Bran’s eyes softened. “Oh.” He blushed. “I’ll uh, I’ll be sure to take care of it.”

Jojen beamed and crawled onto Bran’s lap, capturing his lips with his own. “Don’t you  _ dare _ drop it. It’s very delicate.” He mumbled between kisses. “You are  _ unbelievably _ sexy, Bran Stark.” He murmured, trailing his kisses down Bran’s neck. He slid off of Bran’s lap, much to Bran’s chagrin, but his hands were already in Bran’s lap, messing with his drawstrings until they came loose.

“Jojen…” Bran sighed, his voice tight with anticipation.

Jojen paused, one hand already half-poised over Bran’s cock. “Yes?”

“ _ Yes _ , goddamn it,  _ please. _ ” Bran moaned softly, both hands braced against each arm of his chair in anticipation. 

Jojen started slow, taking Bran into his mouth, working the bottom half of his cock with his hand. Then he tightened the ring of his lips, sucking down until the pressure was perfect. His only indication, of course, was Bran’s hand, now cupping the back of his head gently and rubbing it with his fingers.

Bran’s other hand was clamped between his teeth, muffling the moan he wanted to let escape, to show Jojen how much he liked this, to encourage him further, but he didn’t want to run the risk of getting them caught.

Jojen wiped his mouth when he’d finished with his handkerchief, smirking up at a breathless Bran proudly. “Was that alright?”

“Why do you always insist on asking ridiculously stupid questions with ridiculously obvious answers?” Bran teased, running a thumb over Jojen’s bright red bottom lip.


	3. Chapter 3: November, 1841

**November, 1841**

“Bran?” Jojen knocked softly on his door as he said his name in order to announce himself. “Brandon, could I borrow you for a moment?”

“Of course.” Bran rolled out from behind his desk and joined by Jojen’s side. 

“I know we’re typically supposed to exchange engagement gifts earlier in our engagement, but it took some time to build, and then actually install…” Jojen explained as he guided Bran down the halls, towards the back door. “I had to do it while you were away, and then I had to cleverly lure you away from the back lawn for a few days.”

Jojen opened the back door for him, presenting a beautiful marble fountain to him with a flourish. Next to it, Jojen had commissioned benches with no arm rests, so Bran wouldn’t feel so walled off from whoever chose to sit with him. Alongside that was a stone table with a permanent chessboard on top. 

“You had this built for me?” Bran beamed, rolling around the fountain and inspecting every detail.

“I wanted to give you  _ something _ as a wedding gift.” Jojen smiled ever so slightly and perched on the edge of the fountain. “That, and the patio area that had to be put in as well gives you a much better surface to stroll outside on than uneven grass, don’t you think?”

Bran halted his wheelchair where Jojen was sitting. “You are, without a doubt, the most amazing man I’ve ever met.” He held out his hand and when Jojen took it, he dragged the other over and planted a kiss on his lips. “When exactly did you have time to make this?”

“When I sent you away for the weekend. I rushed builders in as soon as I could, and… well, it’s here now.”

“You’re brilliant.”

“Would you like to play?” Jojen asked, dragging a chair up to the chess table and producing an oak box from seemingly nowhere. “I feel as though I could finally beat you.”

Bran smirked. “Only if I let you, as a return for this beautiful gift you’ve given me.” He rolled up to the other side of the board. “I’ll be red, please.”

~*~

Jojen liked to return to his original factory about once a week for a span of two days, just to check on things and ease the transition of him leaving for the new factory that would be built on the Stark’s land.

This is why it didn’t strike odd to any of the Stark family that was staying in Reading, not even Meera, when they didn’t hear from Jojen for two days. It would be illogical to get worried after that insignificant amount of time.

However, when Jojen still hadn’t returned on the evening of the third night, Bran started to get worried. 

On the morning of the fourth day, a town car pulled up to the mansion, and two men in police uniforms helped a well-worn looking Jojen out of the back.

Bran rushed out to the front porch, followed closely behind by his sister and his soon-to-be sister-in-law. “What happened?!”

“Factory fire.” One of the officers explained. “He’s got a few burns, but he’ll be alright.”

“Oh my god.” Meera rushed forward and scooped her younger brother up into her arms. “I’ll get you to your room, it’s going to be alright.”

“Meera, please, I’m fine now. I’ve been in hospital the last two days, I don’t need to lay down anymore. I’m tired of resting.”

“Hospital?!” Bran followed him into the house, nearly bubbling over with worry. “Jojen, what happened? Why didn’t you send a telegram, a messenger, anything?!”

“I thought I could have been home sooner, I’m sorry.” Jojen said flippantly, continuing to walk away from Bran, clearly trying to avoid him.

“Jojen Reed!” Bran barked, stopping his fiance in his tracks. “Get to my room, this instant, and lay yourself down! If you’re ill or injured, it is my job to take care of you!”

Jojen swallowed and turned on his heel. Both of his eyebrows were up in a show of simultaneous surprise and indifference. “Alright.” 

Bran followed him to his bedroom, watched Jojen strip off his shirt, and motioned for him to take a seat in bed.

“Master Bran?” Osha peeked her head into her master’s room, more curious and less cautious. “I know of a remedy for burns like that one. Would you like me to make it?”

“Yes, thank you Osha, that would be very kind.” Bran answered without looking at her, not to be rude, of course, but because a very handsome man who had asked to marry him was suddenly half-naked before him.

Jojen noticed his stare. “Something wrong?”

Bran cleared his throat nervously. “You, uh… It doesn’t look like you manage a factory, judging by your body.”

Jojen smirked. “Are you calling me fit?”

Bran blushed. “Perhaps.”

He rose from the bed and leaned down to peck Bran’s lips softly. “You’re quite fit yourself.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I like to imagine it that way, when I’m alone in my room, a few bare walls between us.”

Bran’s blush deepened. “Sit down, Jojen, before you fall down.”

“I’m not too terribly injured, Bran.” He whispered, his lips grazing Bran’s neck with each word. “Why don’t you join me in bed? Lay back, relax, let me show you what I am still capable of.”

“We aren’t married.”

“I’m not talking about things we’ve never done before. We’re already familiar with one way I can please my husband to be.” His lips pressed just beneath Bran’s left ear, soft and warm and wet and  _ oh so inviting. _

“Master Reed.” Osha interrupted from the doorway, holding a bowl in her hand. “Up on the bed please, Master Bran will find it difficult to help you if you’re trying to climb into his lap.”

Jojen vanished from his side in a show of strict obedience, his blush spreading from his face to his bare chest. “Sorry, Bran.”

“Don’t apologize to him, apologize to me.” Osha crossed to Bran’s side and handed him the bowl. “Put this anywhere there’s a burn. It’s animal fat and egg whites. Old remedy, keeps the air out of the wound, infection, that sort of thing.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” Bran squeezed her hand in thanks. “I think I can handle him from here.”

Osha bowed out of the room and shut the door behind her, leaving them alone once more.

“Come here.” Bran motioned for Jojen to obey. “I need to put ointment on your wound.”

Jojen sighed, but complied.

Bran’s touch was cool to his burned shoulder, well, that and the ointment. 

They sat in silence for a few long moments, the only sounds the creaking of floorboards and muffled chatter from other places in the house. 

Laughter echoed from outside, and both men turned to watch their sisters, Arya and Meera, ride past their windows in breeches and carrying fencing foils. They were swinging wildly at one another in some twisted game of their own invention.

Jojen sighed.

“Something wrong?” Bran asked.

“Meera’s wearing my trousers.”

“Doesn’t she have some of her own?”

“Of course she does, but she always insists on wearing mine and getting them all muddy.” He grumbled.

“I’m just glad they have each other.” Bran said fondly.

“They’ve been practically inseparable lately. When I get home from work all I get from her is ‘Arya did this today!’ and ‘Arya said that, it was brilliant!’ It’s almost exhausting listening to her.”

“To think, we might be celebrating a second Reed-Stark wedding soon.” 

Jojen rolled his eyes. “To think.” 

Bran pulled away when he was finished, making his way over to his desk nonchalantly. “I know it isn’t typical for us to give each other engagement gifts, but-”

“I gave you one.” Jojen interrupted.

“You did, and I love it, it’s marvelous. But usually our parents are supposed to send us something nice and they haven’t-”

“My parents are dead.”

“Therefore they have a much better excuse than mine.” Bran drew up a heavy trunk with great care, laying it on his lap and bringing it back over to his bedside. “What I’m trying to say is that I got these for you, as an engagement gift.” He passed it up to his fiance, opening it up so Jojen could see.

“Bran…” Jojen gasped.

“The traditional gift from the parents is China. Teacups, dinner plates, that sort of thing.”

Jojen lifted one of the saucers out of the delicate packaging. “These are our family crests.”

“Right beside one another.” Bran smiled gently. 

“How did you… When did you have time to…?”

“I could ask you the same question about my fountain.” Bran retorted.

Jojen set the china aside, on the bedside table, before lifting Bran out of his chair and sweeping him onto the bed.

“Jojen,” Bran protested. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“I’ll be fine, stop worrying about me.” Jojen balanced on his good arm and crawled on top of Bran, resting his chest atop of Bran’s and kissing him gently. 

Bran encouraged him onto his side, so they could lay side by side without breaking the kiss. 

Jojen’s thumb brushed down Bran’s cheek gently as he pulled away. “I slept a lot, while I was in hospital.”

“Oh?” Bran’s eyes struggled to find focus on Jojen’s face when he was so close.

“I dreamt many things, but mostly I dreamt of my future.”

“Really? What about your future? About living here?”

“Well, yes. But mostly I dreamt about the only thing that matters.” Jojen paused to brush some of Bran’s hair out of his eyes. “You.”


	4. Late January, 1842

**Chapter 4: Late January, 1842**

“They’re here!” Sansa sang as she sailed into Bran’s study, a large wrapped package in her hands. “They’re here, they’re here!”

“What, what’s here?” Bran asked, clicking another piece of his puzzle into place and sighing under his breath. It just wasn’t satisfying anymore, the indoor activities.

(Sansa, by the way, had not left since Jojen and Meera had arrived, nearly five months ago, aside from going on this shopping trip a month or so ago. Sansa usually stayed for an unordinary amount of time, but this? This was entirely too much.)

“The invitations!” She beamed, twirled for whatever reason, and laid them on the desk beside the table where he was currently working. 

“We ordered invitations?” Meera asked, handing Bran another piece from the sky portion of his puzzle.

“No.” Sansa snapped. “ _ I _ ordered the invitations. When  _ I  _ was in town. I knew neither of you were going to do it, and if you want any gifts at this wedding, and if you want anyone to show up to this thing, you’re going to write their names down.”

Bran sighed. “Sansa, thank you for doing this for me, but I don’t even know who I’m going to invite yet.”

“You don’t?” Meera looked surprised and mildly disgusted. “It’s getting late, Bran, isn’t the wedding in three months?”

“A little more than that, actually.” Sansa corrected, tearing open the packaging and drawing an invitation from the top of the stack for Meera to see. “April 25th, 1842. You couldn’t have picked a better season Bran, really, Spring weddings are simply delightful. And as for you not knowing who to invite because you’ve spent your whole damn life cooped up in this flat house-”

“-Of my own choice, mind you.” Bran reminded her. He hated being stared at in the outside world, or asked why he wasn’t in a sanitorium or some such nonsense. This was his little corner of the world, and even when he was trapped indoors he much preferred it to being ‘in town’.

“-I’ve taken the liberty to draw up a list.” She pulled a few pages from seemingly nowhere with a flourish. “These are all the people who are expecting invitations because they attended my wedding, as well as any family friends and extended cousins that we should consider inviting.”

“Aunt Lysa didn’t come to your wedding, why should she expect an invitation from me?” Bran scoffed, pausing in his scan of the list.

“Her husband had just passed, Bran, show her some respect.” Sansa huffed. “Anyway, that should be your general guidelines. I’ve also taken down their place of residence as best as I can remember, so get to work.”

Meera began to rise from her seat, clearly looking for an escape. “This is clearly none of my-” She was stopped abruptly by Sansa’s firm hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, nonsense, Meera.” She smiled a crocodile smile. “You can close the envelopes for Bran and organize them neatly. I’m sure he needs your help.”

“But Arya’s out in the backyard-”

“I’m so grateful that you’ve volunteered!” Sansa cut her off again, this time clearly giving an order. “I’m off now, have fun you two.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Bran called out after her, but she was already long gone.

Meera sighed, resigned, and sat in the seat across from Bran. “Well. Let’s get started?”

“Perhaps we can get mostly done before Jojen gets home from work.” Bran said, picking up a pen and starting to copy names from Sansa’s list to the fronts of envelopes.

“Oh? And what would you do with him when he gets here?” Meera asked, cocking an eyebrow. “We wouldn’t want any scandals on our hands before you two are even wedded.”

He chuckled. “That’s not what I was thinking. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy a kiss from my groom-to-be upon his homecoming.” She snorted. “I am even allowed a good healthy snog if I so chose.”

They continued chatting to one another aimlessly, passing the time while they worked until finally Bran set his pen back in the holder from whence it came, sighing dramatically.

“Quite done addressing invitations for the evening?” Meera mused from her seat by the fireside.

“Quite done thinking of people I’d rather not see on what’s supposed to be the happiest day of my life.”

“Oh?” Meera cocked an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the Lannisters?”

“Perhaps in passing.”

“Sansa’s married to one of them. They’re fabulously wealthy, and famously the biggest bunch of pricks-”

“How now?” She tapped the end of her pen to her nose. “If they’re fabulously wealthy, surely they’d bring the best gifts.”

“That, and they’re sure to cause a scene.”

“Then this day is the one time in your life you’re allowed to ream them over the coals for causing a scene. It’s  _ your _ wedding day.”

“Meera, I'm not really one to make a scene.” Bran crossed off Tyrion Lannister’s name from his very very long list of names, having already addressed his invitation. 

She fell silent after that, and they continued on in their appointed task for another hour or so in relative silence before Jojen peeked his head, just home from work. 

“What are you two doing?”

“Labeling invitations.” Bran scowled. “And it’s just occurred to me that Meera shouldn’t be cooped up in here with me doing this when it should be  _ your _ ass in the chair.”

Meera smirked. Apparently, a spiteful Bran was a Bran she could get behind. Wordlessly, she and her brother switched places; she darted out of the room without looking back once.

“You look…” Jojen trailed off, not sure how to put the fact that Bran looked pissed into some sort of phrase that wouldn’t proliferate the problem.

“I am.” Bran finished for him, apparently reading his mind. “I’ve been bored out of my mind for the last day, mostly because it’s raining and I don’t have shit to do in this big boring house except for, apparently, solve puzzles and write invitations. I’ve read every book twice, and I’ve already thumbed through the ones you brought with you.”

“Are you trying to tell me my books aren’t interesting?” Jojen gave him a playful smile in an effort to cheer up his fiance.

“I read three of them. The only three I haven’t already read.” Bran laid his head on his desk into the pile of papers, defeated.

“I know exactly what you need, love.” Jojen reached across the table and laid his hand on Bran’s. “You need a vacation.”

“What?”

“Some time away from here, in the city, where we can buy new books for you, maybe even go under the guise of shopping for… Oh, I don’t know, something wedding related.”

Bran perked up ever so slightly. “We could stay with Robb, perhaps.”

“Just the two of us. And Robb, I suppose, by default.” He squeezed Bran’s hand. “I know you were just in town, it’s not a hugely rewarding enterprise, but-”

“No, no! I want to go, quite desperately! If only to get away from Sansa this time.”

Jojen took his hand and pressed it to his lips. “I’ll go tell Sansa that it’s unavoidable. We can leave first thing in the morning.”

~*~

Robb’s home in town was small and difficult to get to, so Bran and Jojen decided to stay in a hotel across the street. It was difficult for Bran to get in and out of the hotel, because of the stairs, but they managed; Robb picking his brother up and carrying him to their rented room on the first floor, while Jojen trailed behind, carrying his wheelchair. It was for this reason that Bran preferred to leave their hotel late in the morning, spending as much time as they could getting ready to really be sure they were indeed ready, and spend as much of the day as they could out and about, shopping and visiting some of Jojen’s old friends, as well as attending plays.

Visiting the playhouses was Bran’s favorite part. All his life, he’d had access to these plays in their written forms, and had read several of them back home, but seeing them… seeing them was entirely different. They came to life in front of him, inflections that he’d never thought of adding all sorts of subtext he’d never considered.

He let Jojen wheel him out of  _ King Victor and King Charles _ , a play that had come out only a few days before. He was stunned.

“...And the history of it all, it was fantastic, Jojen, absolutely fantastic.” He was still blathering on about it all the way back to their hotel, saying essentially the same thing over and over again.

Jojen didn’t mind. He thought it was adorable, how much Bran was in love with performance as an art form, and he loved listening to his ramblings and his observances.

Bran talked, uninterrupted, all the way back to their inn, where Jojen had to struggle by himself to get him into their room, out of his day clothes and into his night clothes, which, granted, Bran could do by himself, but it gave Jojen a great opportunity to brush his fingers against Bran’s chest and thighs, to watch Bran blush when he dared make such a move.

When they were both finally dressed for bed, Jojen curled up behind Bran, nestling his cheek against his fiance’s from behind. 

“I found the most beautiful coat today.” Bran said softly, entwining their fingers together over his stomach.

“I saw you noticing it.” Jojen whispered, kissing his cheek. “Blue brocade?”

“With the most beautiful tails…” Bran trailed off, sighing. “The moment I saw it, I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“I would be wearing it the day I meet you at the alter.”

Jojen beamed, squeezing Bran’s hand. “Tomorrow, we will go to find a clergyman to perform the marriage, and I will buy it for you.”

“I can buy it for myself, Jojen.”

“What difference will it make, when a few months from now, our accounts will be one and the same? Let me do this.”

Bran rolled his eyes. “Fine. After we find him, you can buy me my coat. But don’t expect not to be repaid in some way or another.”

“I think I can think of one way.” Jojen chuckled, kissing Bran’s neck.

Bran swatted him away playfully. “Go to sleep, you loon.”

“As you wish.”

~*~

First thing in the morning, Bran and Jojen found themselves in 

“Hello.” Jojen crossed the room to shake the clergyman’s hand first, an eager smile on his face. “It’s excellent to meet you. My name is Jojen Reed, and this-”

“Master Reed!” The clergyman exclaimed. “My nephew works in one of your factories! I’ve heard much about you.”

Jojen looked pleasantly surprised. “Truly? London must be a smaller town than I originally thought.”

“He has nothing but shining things to say about you. Although I must say he’s mentioned that you’re moving away with the creation of a new factory. Is this true?”

“I’m afraid so.” Jojen said halfheartedly.

“And I’m the reason.” Bran said, entering the conversation. “Hello, I’m Bran Stark, I’m Jojen’s fiance.”

The clergymen reached out to shake Bran’s hand. “It’s very good to meet you. How are you the reason?”

“Jojen plans to build a new factory on my land, in Berkshire, because we’re getting married.”

The clergyman nodded in understanding.

“Your nephew shouldn’t worry, though.” Jojen assured him. “I’m leaving this factory in the hands of a very dear friend of mine, and a very qualified manager.”

“I’ll be sure to tell my nephew.” He took a seat behind his desk, leaning back leisurely. “Now, what can I do for you gentlemen?”

“Well, as you know, we’re engaged, and we need someone to perform the rites.” Bran said. “We plan to get married at my home.”

“If you would be so kind as to travel out to Reading to perform the rite, we would be greatly honoured.” Jojen continued.

The clergyman smiled. “I would be greatly honoured. Shall we discuss the particulars?”

They spent the next few hours discussing transportation and price, and left happy with a clergyman to marry them on the day of their choosing.

However, Bran’s happy mood was dampened when they arrived at the shop from the day before. 

“It’s just gone?” He frowned, staring at the rack where his brilliant blue brocade tailcoat had once hung. “Just like that?”

“Someone purchased it yesterday. I’m very sorry, sir.” The shopkeeper explained. 

Jojen rested a hand on Bran’s shoulder. “It’s alright, darling.”

“It was the perfect wedding jacket.” Bran took his hand and kissed it gently.

“We’ll come back before the wedding, we can look again.”

Bran shrugged. “If you think we’ll find something that good again, I’m always willing to try.”

~*~

“I like him.” Bran said once they were settled into their room for the night, after a long afternoon of more disappointing shopping.

“Who?” Jojen asked, mid-undress.

“Our clergyman. He’s nice.”

“I’m glad you like him.” Jojen shrugged on a nightshirt. “Are you ready for the return journey tomorrow?”

“Quite.” Bran sighed. “I’m ready to sleep in my own bed again.”

“That, and Meera and Arya being practically alone in that house worries me.”


	5. March, 1842

**March, 1842**

A few months after they had arrived back at Bran’s home, it came time for the wedding preparations to begin. One of those preparations was, in essence, gathering close family members early and allowing them to help with other various tasks. This is why Arya and Bran were sitting outside of their old home near the carriage that they took to get there, waiting for their youngest brother to join them on their journey.

Bran scratched the back of his neck where his woolen scarf was wrapped tight. “It’s cold out, Arya, do we have to do this now?”

“This is England, Bran. It’s always cold.” She replied, arms crossed over her chest in an attempt to stay warm.

Finally,  _ finally _ , Little Rickon ran from the french doors of the Stark Family home and sprinted towards his siblings. “Bran! Arya!”

“Rickon!” They said simultaneously, reaching out to hug their youngest brother. “Are you ready to come live with us?”

“Oh, I’d love nothing more!” He beamed, racing them to the carriage, where he paused halfway through getting in. “Bran? Arya? Who is this?”

“Oh.” Arya rolled Bran back to the carriage so Hodor could load him in. “That is your brother’s… finacé, Jojen Reed. Don’t worry, Rickon, he doesn’t bite.”

“Hello!” Rickon greeted him joyfully. “I’m Rickon Stark!”

“It’s lovely to make your acquaintance.” Jojen smiled at him graciously, and he took the seat beside the older man. 

Rickon was only four years younger than Bran, putting him at a ripe and bursting age of 20, but he seemed to be permanently stuck in his early teens. Perhaps it could be chalked up to Catlyn Stark losing all of her children to cities and town houses, and only Rickon chose to stay at home and care for her, or perhaps it was simply because he was the youngest of five (technically six, if you count Jon, which Catlyn did not.)

Their mother followed their youngest brother out, tightly wrapped in a shawl, her long, tented skirts dragging behind her on the walk. Catlyn Stark was the kind of woman who wore her evening gown to a group lunch, or even Sunday Mass, but by the time of day when it would be appropriate to wear such finery, she would feign tiredness, illness, or boredom and retire to her private rooms. In short, she was flashy for all the wrong reasons, and petulant when it came to other people’s desires.

Bran groaned internally. He loved his mother, he cared for her very deeply, but her overprotective nature coupled with the fact that he was marrying an equally protective man that she had never met before spelled d-i-s-a-s-t-e-r.

“Hello, mother.” Bran greeted her pleasantly, leaning up to receive a kiss on the cheek from her.

She barely blinked between greeting Bran and criticizing Arya. “Young lady, your dress is filthy!”

Arya shrugged, rolling her eyes simultaneously. “How am I supposed to know which ones are clean? They all lay on the floor so long it’s impossible to tell.”

“Arya Stark!” Their mother exclaimed.

“Jojen.” Bran reached up into the carriage for his fiance. “Put me in the carriage. I want to go home.”

“Of course, love.” Jojen said, jumping down and whisking Bran up into his arms. He sat him down in the seat beside his. “Hodor? When you’ve finished loading Mrs. Stark and Rickon’s bags, would you kindly secure Bran’s chair?”

“Hodor.” The servant replied, nodding.

“Mother,” Bran called from the carriage. “Please stop harping Arya and get in. We have wedding plans to make.”

“You haven’t already started planning?” Catlyn climbed into the carriage and settled between her youngest son and her youngest daughter.

“Mother, you know we have started. We mailed out invitations weeks ago.”

“An invitation only means that you’ve selected a date. It means virtually nothing to me.” She said petulantly.

“There’s no winning with her.” Bran whispered to Jojen, who at some point during the conversation, had placed his hand on Bran’s thigh protectively.

He smiled at his soon-to-be mother-in-law as genuinely as he could muster. “It’s excellent to meet you, Mrs. Stark. I can’t tell you enough how happy I am to be marrying your son next month.”

She extended her hand for him to kiss, and he complied. “May daughter told me about you. She said that you were formidable. But it has come to my understanding that you have plans to build on our land, and that was the original purpose of your marriage.”

Bran’s face hardened. “Mother, I do believe it was you who told me that Marriage would come for us, as they would be built from convenience, and that love would follow after.”

“I remember her saying that to Sansa, When she was upset about marrying Tyrion.” Arya piped up, earning herself a glare from their mother.

“You told me about that, Bran.” Jojen turned to his fiancee, grinning. “It must have been my first night staying in your home.”

“I remember.” Bran rested a hand on top of Jojen’s. “My point, mother, is that marrying for the exchange of land and finances is beneficial to the family. Especially because we will have no children, and our inheritance will pass to someone else within the family.

Catlyn hesitated for a moment, before nodding. “Alright, Brandon. I’m glad you’ve found someone, then.”

~*~

The moment they arrived back home, Catlyn and Sansa got straight to work, beginning to write out place cards and drawing out a rough seating chart on some sketch paper. The two of them took over the entire dining room, a fact that left Osha pacing in frustration.

“I hate that that woman can come in here and kick me out of my space.” She grumbled.

“Osha, she’s my mother. Please.”

“Your mother that stuck you here when you were ten years old, fresh out of hospital with no one but me ‘n Hodor too look after ye.”

“Please, Osha. This place had to be built first. I was home with them for several months before I moved here.”

“And what good did home do ye? Nothing but staircases and uneven floors. You were trapped in bed, you were! And now you’re trapped in the drawing room with no dinner.”

“Osha,” Jojen interrupted. “Why don’t you and I prepare dinner together and we’ll all eat together in the drawing room?”

“No.” She crossed her arms and straightened her back. “Wouldn’t be proper. I’ll go by myself, bring it out here in a short while. Just you wait.”

“We will.” Bran promised. 

Jojen took a seat on the couch beside Bran’s chair, laying a hand on the arm of the couch surreptitiously. “You were ten?”

“What?” Bran asked, jarred out of his stupor.

“Osha said you were ten when you got out of hospital. Is that when this happened?” He gestured to Bran’s legs, and by extension, his chair. 

Bran nodded silently.

“I never knew.” Jojen said softly.

“I never said anything.” Bran said with a shrug.

A heavy silence hung over the room’s residents, one tinged with sadness, until Arya cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention.

“I have an idea!” She declared. “Why don’t we all write down things about ourselves that the others are unlikely to know, put them in a bowl, and draw them out! We’ll make a game out of trying to guess whose is whose.”

“That’s a marvelous idea, Arya.” Meera encouraged her. “I’ll get some extra pens from my room, Jojen, could you find us some paper?”

Jojen nodded quickly, heading for the desk in the drawing room to find parchment. He began to tear the pieces into neat squares, about four per piece, and pile them into a stack on the tray table in the relative center of the room.

“Pass me a few of those?” Bran asked, having pulled a pen from somewhere inside his jacket.

“Of course.” Jojen brought them over, but didn’t drop them off without pressing a soft but powerful kiss to Bran’s lips. 

“What was that for?” Bran asked when his fiance pulled away. “Please tell me that wasn’t because you pity me.”

Jojen shook his head. “Absolutely not. I love you, Bran.”

Bran blinked at him dumbly.

“And I love… I love when you share things with me. It makes me feel more like we’re a real couple.”

Bran frowned. “Are we not a real couple?”

“No, no, I mean, yes we are.” Jojen stood and paced away from him, fumbling his words. “I meant to say-”

“Jojen, are we not a real couple in your eyes?”

Jojen turned on his heel to face him. “Of course we are, Bran! You’re wearing my damn ring, I live in your damn house, I love you! Why wouldn’t we be a real couple?”

Bran shook his head, confused. “Jojen, I don’t… I never said we weren’t. I thought you were implying that-”

“Really? You jump down my throat when I imply it, but when your own mother outright says it, that’s just another day-to-day occurrence?”

“My  _ mother _ treats me like a child, ever since I got hurt I was made of glass in her eyes!” Bran bit back. “I was lucky to get shipped out of there, to my own home, where no one would be watching my every move!”

“What has that got to do with-”

“Everything, Jojen!” He barked. “Everything! My  _ mother _ has hardly ever visited this house, and she certainly has not seen me often enough in the last fourteen years to know how well off I am by myself, and how surprisingly little I need help with. If you know that, then you should be able to figure out that if my mother doesn’t know how independant I am, then she can’t possibly know how I feel about you!”

Jojen just stared at him. “What are you saying, Bran?”

“What he’s saying,” Arya interrupted from the doorway. “Is that our mother barely knows how he’s doing on his own, so how could she possibly know that this isn’t just a marriage of convenience?”

“Arya,” Bran’s voice cracked. “How long-”

“Long enough. Do you two need a moment alone? Perhaps for Jojen to apologize?”

Meera scoffed. “As though  _ my _ brother is the one who should apologize!”

“Hey.” Bran barked at the two of them. “Why don’t you two fight about this somewhere while I apologize to my fiance.”

Arya rolled her eyes and grabbed Meera by the wrist, dragging her away.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Jojen was in Bran’s lap, cupping his cheeks and kissing him deeply. Bran’s hands drifted to Jojen’s waist, supporting him and gripping tightly to the muscles in his back. Jojen nipped his bottom lip and sucked it gently, he wound his fingers into Bran’s cravat, unravelling it. He kissed across Bran’s cheek and down his neck, to the newly revealed skin of his shoulder.

Bran moaned softly and fumbled with the ties of Jojen’s trousers, until he found Jojen’s cock and tugged it roughly. 

Jojen moaned into his shoulder, the barest hint of his teeth brushing the skin. “Bran-”

“Kiss me.” He demanded, jerking Jojen’s manhood again.

Jojen obeyed, licking into Bran’s mouth hungrily while the other’s thumb rubbed through the slit in the head of his cock, causing Jojen to grunt from the roughness, the dry heat of Bran’s hand.

“Mmh,” Bran grunted, edging away from Jojen so he could speak. “Bite me.”

“Huh?” Jojen blinked out of his stupor.

“Bite me again.” Bran said, more gruff this time. “I liked it. Do it again.”

He exposed all of Bran’s shoulder with a desperate tear, his hips canting into his fist, finding friction where he could. His teeth sunk into the meat of Bran’s shoulder, causing the other to flinch.

He stroked him faster, moaning lightly at the teeth on his skin. 

Jojen gasped when his grip became tighter, moving faster; his fingernails dug into Bran’s scalp. His hips gave a few short, aborted thrusts before he was cumming into his hand, onto his waistcoat, even getting a fleck or two on Bran’s bright red cheeks.

It took him a few moments to compose himself before he began buttoning up Bran’s waistcoat, his fingers shaking.

“Are you alright?” He asked, trying up his trousers once more. “You’re shaking.”

“When emotions run high and intimacy follows…” Jojen took a raggedy breath. “It’s intense.” 

Bran nodded, cupping Jojen’s chin and bringing him down for another slow, passionate kiss.


	6. April, 1842. The Day Before the Wedding.

******Chapter 6: April, 1842. The Day Before the Wedding.**

Bran swallowed thickly. “Why am I the bride, again?”

Osha swatted the back of his head. “We’ve been over this. Now, rehearse your wedding so you know what the hell you’re doing tomorrow.” 

Bran sighed and stared down the aisle to where Jojen was standing by the alter. His breath caught in the back of his throat, as the arch at the end of the aisle bore a barren space, one off to the left of Jojen, meant for him. His heart clenched at the sight of his fiance waiting for him at the end of the aisle, the most misty, dreamy look on his face.

And their actual wedding wouldn’t be until tomorrow.

“You look like you’re about to cry.” He muttered to Jojen when he met him under the wooden arch that Sandor Clegane had been so kind as to build for them, and that Sansa had painstakingly decorated with light blue flowers. (the colours of the petals for their mother’s house, and the green of the stems for the Reeds. It made more sense when Sansa explained it.) 

“It just… hit me. It hit me that this time tomorrow, we’ll be getting married. I’ll have a husband, and he’ll be quite possibly one of the most amazing men I’ve ever met.”

Bran reached over to take his fiance's hand. “I’d come to terms with it.”

“Oh, sure.” Jojen rolled his eyes. “And you won’t have a complete meltdown tomorrow?”

“Well.” Bran shrugged. “I might. But only because my mother and my sister will be driving me absolutely nutters.” 

He chuckled, only to be shushed by the clergyman, who then continued explaining how the ceremony would go and where they would all walk from there.

Sansa then lead them to where some crewmen she’d hired were setting up a massive horseshoe table, the table where the wedding party would sit and receive gifts from the guests.

“I’ve spoken to Robb and Jon, they should be arriving sometime tonight. They’ve already written their speeches, the both of them, even though neither of you chose either of them as your best man.”

Bran blushed, slightly shamed. “You’re supposed to choose the person you most trust. Who would I choose other than Arya?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “You two and loopholes in tradition. Perhaps that’s a better match to be married.”

“Can’t marry an idea, Sansa luv.” Jojen chided, smirking.

“Again, with the technicalities.” She groaned. “These last few months with you two have been unbearable.”

“And why’s that?” Rickon asked. “I’ve only been here a month, and they seem quite compatible.”

“That’s exactly my point.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the table. “The vast amounts of time they’ve spent together have resulted in them becoming an annoying bore full of inside jokes and cheeky quiet grins. I for one, am tired of being the butt of so many of their jokes.”

“I’m sure they mean no harm by it, Sansa.” Arya pat her sister’s arm in some semblance of comfort.

“Oh, don’t get me  _ started _ on you and your new best friend,  _ young lady.” _

“Oh deary me, luv!” Meera exclaimed in a faux Irish accent. “Pull yer ‘and away from that tigress before ya lose yer fangers!”

Arya and Meera dissolved into giggles about this, resulting in Sansa rolling her eyes and stomping away.

“Anyway,” Sansa continued, ignoring her sister and said sister’s best friend. “After the reception, you’ll retire for the night and leave in the morning for your honeymoon. Have you made arrangements already?”

“Yes.” Jojen assured her. “Can only tell the best man, though. Sorry, we’ll tell you all about it when we get back.”

“Will your husband be attending the wedding, Sansa?” Bran asked, folding his hands in his lap awkwardly, as Jojen was pushing his chair to follow his sister. He was adjusting to Jojen pushing him around every once in awhile, though he could do it himself and had proved it many times over, he understood that Jojen liked to help every so often as some sort of romantic gesture. They’d had a fight about it two months back, Bran’s shouts of protest echoing up and down the halls so everyone in the house could know he didn’t like being treated like an invalid. Jojen countered with a very convincing argument based around feeling useless without helping Bran around, and that his actions were not based around helping out of obligation or pity, but out of romance and the desire for an excuse to be close to Bran while they strolled about London or Bran’s great acreage. 

“Of course my husband will be attending.” Sansa shot back, annoyed. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“I never saw an RSVP from him specifically, but I did receive word from the rest of his family. I’d love it if he could come.”

“Bran.” Sansa’s voice was cold, sharp. “What is your obsession with my husband? You’re more fond of him than anyone else. In fact, you’re probably the only one out of our entire family that actively wants him anywhere-”

“Why marry him, then?” Bran crossed his arms and stared up at his sister.

Sansa sighed and took a seat in a nearby miscellaneous chair. She directed her gaze up into her brother’s eyes piercing him with a sadness that underlined her apathy. “Tyrion and I were a smart match. He was rich, lonely, a recluse for most of his life before he burst onto the social scene in 1838. He started throwing lavish parties that would last weeks at a time, parties with music, dancing, food, poetry. As the eldest girl, I was invited to all of them, and attempted to find myself a well-off husband. And I did.”

“Tyrion?”

“His nephew. Joffrey.” She chuckled humorlessly. “But he wasn’t what he seemed. His mother was worse. I was lucky. Tyrion wanted to help me, in exchange for my hand in marriage.”

“What happened?”

“My husband saved me from his sadistic nephew by marrying me and hiding me away in several of his town houses, moving me every so often until this house of yours was fully built. He furnished my move here and gave me as much money I needed.”

“Doesn’t seem like he gets much out of it.”

“He does, actually. Right now he’s living in London with a very kind handmaiden of low-born stature, a match that never would have been approved by his family.”

“Sounds like everyone gets their way.” Jojen was now sitting beside Bran. “Why does it seem like you hate him?”

Sansa scoffed. “I guess I have always held some sort of resentment towards him for taking me away from Joffrey. Something inside me still loved him, even though he chewed me up and spit me out. Some part of my heart will always belong to him, I suppose, even though the logical part of my brain tells me he is psychotic. I’ll always be sour towards Tyrion for stupid reasons like that, but I don’t think I’ll ever  _ hate _ him. Hate is too strong a word for his kindness.”

Bran took his sister’s hand and held it to his cheek. “I love you, Sansa. I am endlessly grateful for your time here.”

“Even though I’m annoying, and I pester you about weddings all day?”

Bran chuckled. “Without you, I would have had to plan all of this myself. And then it truly would have been a disaster.”

She smiled, the sadness behind her misty eyes fading. “I love you, Bran.”

“I love you too.”

~*~

Bran settled into bed that night, a nest of butterflies finally coming to a partial rest in his stomach. He ran his fingers through his hair and squeezed, glad for the temporary relief it brought him. He wasn’t sure why, he felt great, he was getting married tomorrow… maybe his light headache was coming from the fact that he just read six chapters of his new book from the light of a single candle. 

But the moment he set his book aside and blew the candle out, the door to his bedroom creaked open and Jojen poked his head in, his own candlestick in hand. “Bran? Are you awake?”

“I was just about to lay down.” He whispered back. “Why are you here? We’re not supposed to see each other the night before the wedding.”

“Well, not really.” Jojen shrugged, closing the door behind himself after he snuck in. “Technically, the groom is not supposed to see the bride the night before.” He set his lit candle on the bedside table, casting a flickering warm glow over their faces. “And you are no bride. You’re a groom, same as I am. So the rule doesn’t really apply to us.” He crawled onto Bran’s bed and between his legs, guiding them apart so he could rest in between them on his knees.

Bran blushed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m seducing you.” He brushed his lips across Bran’s cheek, then kissed his neck gently. “Is it working?”

Bran swallowed nervously. “Perhaps.” He let one hand rest on the nape of Jojen’s neck, the other twisting into the collar of his nightshirt. 

Jojen hiked his knees up around his own waist, rubbing their groins together through layers of fabric. Bran shivered, arching up into the friction desperately.  
  
Jojen stopped kissing Bran suddenly and leaned away ever so slightly, brushing his nose against the other's gently. "Should we do this?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Bran peered up at him.  
  
"Is it proper?"  
  
"None of this is proper."  
  
Jojen sighed. "You didn't want this any of the other times I've come in your bedroom at night, don't pretend to want it now."

Bran sighed. “I'm sorry, Jojen, I do, I just… I can't help but think I won't be… ‘dynamite in the sack’, so to speak.”

Jojen shook his head, aghast. “That's not what I need from you, Bran. I don't need ‘dynamite’ I only want-”

“My land.” Bran answered for him.

Jojen pulled away fully, sitting back on his heels. “Oh.” He said shortly. “I understand.”

Before Bran could say a word in his defense, Jojen was gone, back to his own room, presumably. He let out a long sigh and collapsed back into his mess of sheets, wondering what would become of their relationship now. 


	7. The Day of the Wedding

**Chapter 7: The Day of the Wedding.**

Bran woke the following morning to his little brother bouncing on the empty side of his bed, squealing and squeaking at the top of his lungs, which was very unbecoming for a 20 year old man, but Bran would excuse it for today. “Bran! Bran! You’re getting married today!”

“I know, Rickon, I know.” He said in a soft, soothing voice, trying to pacify his brother. “We’ve only been planning it for months.”

“I’m excited!”

“I know you are.” Bran sat up and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Go get Osha and start getting ready. We want to start the festivities early, don’t we?”

“Yes, yes of course!” Rickon squealed, jumping off of Bran’s bed and sprinting down the hall to find his old nanny.

Bran cherished the brief moment of quiet and tranquility that he got before Sansa and Hodor came barging into his room.

“Are you ready?” 

“If I say no, will you leave me alone?”

Sansa laughed sarcastically. “Of course not. Sit up, we’ll help you dress.”

“I can dress myself, thank you.”

“Not in all this, you can’t.” Sansa gestured to the large box that Hodor had helped her drag in. “I can’t even dress myself, not today. And in a house full of boys, and  _ Arya _ , I might need to enlist your help.”

“Arya can tie a set of stays, she’s not an idiot.”

“But she can’t set the hoop skirt correctly. And I’ve got six layers, so could we hurry up a bit?”

Bran rolled his eyes and sat up, allowing his sister and his manservant to undress him down to his flannel drawers before layering everything else on. Sansa managed everything below the waist, his socks, trousers, shoes, before handing everything else to Bran so that he could put it on himself: Undershirt, overshirt, waistcoat, and his cravat (Which he could tie himself, without a mirror, thank you very much). 

Finally, Sansa unfolded a double-breasted damask tailcoat, navy blue and beautiful, just like the one in the shop a few months back, the one that had been purchased before he could get to it.

“Wow.” Bran sighed his wonderment. “It’s better than I remember.”

Sansa beamed. “You think so?”

“Sansa, did you make this?” Bran balked. She nodded. “You didn’t have to do that.”

She shrugged. “Jojen told me about the one you found in town, about how it was purchased before you got the chance. He brought a fashion plate back for me.” She trailed off before collecting herself again. “So anyway, I made one for you.”

“Thank you.” He beamed at her. “Thank you so much, Sansa, this must have taken ages.”

“It was a worthwhile project.” She beamed. “Come to breakfast when you’re ready, but leave off the coat. I don’t want you spilling jam all over my hard work.”

Bran chuckled and followed her to the dining room, where everyone seems to be squabbling over Jojen for some reason. 

“Giving out the groom’s gifts?” Bran asked when he rolled up to his fiance, who sighed.

“I know there’s the whole thing about only buying them for bridesmaids, but there’s only the three of them, and Osha’s been such a big help, and then I couldn’t leave out Little Rickon, so-”

“So you bought five very expensive pieces of jewelry?”

Jojen blushed. “It wasn’t  _ all  _ jewellery.” 

Bran spun around at the implications of that, immediately narrowing his gaze at Arya and Meera, both of whom had new, shiny daggers and were showing them off to one another. “You didn’t.”

“They love them, what was I supposed to do, give them a locket they’ll never use?” Jojen shrugged innocently. “Oh, speaking of, Sansa…” He picked up a small velvet box from the pile. “This is for you.”

She opened it ecstatically. “Oh my god. I have no idea what I’m going to put in this but thank you, Jojen, thank you. It’s a beautiful locket.”

He kissed her cheek as an acceptance of thanks before bending to one knee to see to little Rickon, who was still seated at the breakfast table. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about our very best ring bearer.”

“I get something too?” Rickon looked astounded. “But I’m not a bridesmaid.”

“No, no, you’re not, but you’re the most important of them all. You see, your job is to get those wedding rings down the aisle and in my hands at some point in the wedding. And without those rings, we can’t get married.”

Rickon nodded his understanding, and Jojen gave him his gift, a silver pocket watch and matching chain.

“This is beautiful.” Rickon cooed. 

“And this way I am absolutely sure you will be on time down the aisle.” Jojen ruffled his hair before standing again. “Only one more.”

“And none for me?” Bran faux pouted. “I’m slighted.”

“I already bought you something shiny and gold today.” Jojen kissed his forehead. “I’ll give it to you during the ceremony. Should come somewhere near ‘with this ring, I thee wed.’”

Bran leaned up to peck his cheek before rolling himself into his place at the breakfast table, and began serving himself a plentiful breakfast.

Jojen stopped Osha while she was making her rounds bout the table to give her his groom’s gift.

“Cuffs? Am I a prisoner now?” She scoffed.

Jojen chuckled. “No, no, quite the opposite. These cuffs are quite the popular fashion item in the city as of late, and I've had them customized to be more useful to you than any old piece of jewelry.”

This comment made her pause to actually investigate the cuff bracelets. “This one’s got an unpolished stone in it, just a ruddy old thing… And this is just flint.” She said, holding them up in turn.

“Yes, yes, Osha, that's quite the point.” Jojen beamed. “When you strike your wrists together, it should produce sparks. You can use the bracelets to produce flames.”

“Oh…” She cooed. “That's quite useful, innit? I love it, Master Reed. Love it.” She kissed his cheek, surprising him. “I’ve got to get back to work, but thank you Mister Reed.”

“Arya!” Sansa shouted as a knock on the door sounded throughout the room. “Are you dressed yet!?”

“Mother won’t let me!” Arya shouted back, running into the dining room wearing her bicycling outfit, it being the most free-legged outfit she owned that still wasn’t a trouser. (Truly, it was mostly because it was the most masculine outfit she could wear with her mother around.)

“What are you talking about? Mother loves weddings.”

“She won’t let me wear the traditional outfit!”

“That, truly, is a lie. You’re a bridesmaid, she loves the dress I picked out for you.”

“No, Sansa, I’m Bran’s Best Man! I should get to wear what Jon’s wearing, and so should Meera!”

Sansa’s eyes, sharp as daggers, snapped to Bran. “You made her your  _ Best Man?! _ ”

Bran shrugged. He was entirely too apathetic to this whole wedding business for a groom on his wedding day, but his apathy was too great to care. “Of course I did. Traditionally, your best man is the one person you’d choose to represent you in a fight. I would choose Arya over Robb any day.”

Arya beamed. “And I would fight to the death for you, brother.” She bowed slightly, playfully.

“Let her wear what she wants.” Bran insisted. “Arya, go put on a nicer jacket, preferably something blue, and leave it at that. Also some clean stockings.”

“Oh, thank you!” Arya squealed before dashing off towards her bedroom. 

Sansa’s gaze turned to a glare. “Now why would you do that?”

Bran shrugged. “It’s my wedding, right? Arya in a dress is a sour, unpleasant Arya. And I prefer her happy.”

Sansa rolled her eyes but offered no retort.

Jon came into the dining room then, dressed in green and silk britches. “Gods, these are uncomfortable as hell, Bran.” He said, tugging on his pants.

Bran shrugged innocently. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Why are you wearing green?” Sansa scoffed. “Bran’s side is all blues and greys.”

“Well I’m not standing on Bran’s side,  _ Sansa _ .” Jon drawled out her name sarcastically. “I’m standing with Jojen.”

“Well why the hell would you do that?”

Jon shoved half of a scone in his mouth and shrugged. “He didn’t have enough people on his side.” He mumbled through the food. “You’ve gotta have equal numbers of people on both sides. So I’m standing with Meera.”

Rickon rushed back into the room, his brand new pocket watch in hand. “Bran? You need to get dressed. It’s 10.30.”

“Shit.” Bran swore softly, rolling away from the table hurriedly. “Sansa, help me with my coat. We have 30 minutes before I have to be down the aisle.”

“Shit!” She squealed, shooting out of her seat and darting down the hall. “Come along, Bran! Hurry up!”

Bran groaned and followed his sister as quickly as he could. 

She shut his door behind them quickly, gentle fingers finding her great work of art before wrestling Bran’s arms into it.

“My arms work just fine, thank you.” Bran grumbled, but let her manhandle him anyway.

“I should have known the time was fast approaching, what with the door getting constant attention.” Sansa mumbled to herself while she did up Bran’s buttons. “I can only hope people are filing into their seats by now. I don’t have the patience to corral miscellaneous guests onto benches right now.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine, Sansa.” He assured her, cupping her face with his palm. “You’ve taken great pains to put all of this together for Jojen and I, and we couldn’t be more grateful. I can’t imagine the stress it’s put you under, but it will all be over after this.”

She shook her head slowly, sourly. “I wish it would never end.” Her voice was on the edge of a hint of a whimper. “Planning for your wedding has been such a relief. It distracted me from my life outside this house, gave me an excuse not to write my husband’s family… or mother, for that matter.”

He brushed her cheek with his thumb, leaning up to kiss her forehead. “I’ll slip hints to Arya that she should propose to Meera. Give you something to do.”

“You’re very sweet, Bran.” She smiled. “Let’s get you down that aisle and married, shall we?”

~*~

Hodor had taken over the responsibility of pushing him down the aisle, which was little more than a rug they’d laid in his backyard that lead up to the arch from last night. Little had changed since they’d rehearsed the day before, except, of course, their outfits and the innumerable amount of guests that now filled the seats.

His eye caught on Jojen, who was wearing an identical double breasted tailcoat to his own, the only difference being the colour: his a dark, mossy green, a colour to match his eyes. He cursed Sansa softly in his mind. Of course, she wouldn’t stop at making just one for him. Damn her for making his heart clench as such.

He got his breath back when he was finally set in front of his fiance, when he reached across to take Jojen’s hand.

The clergyman gave a brief introduction before prompting them to repeat each line of their vows to each other. 

Bran hung on every word out of Jojen’s mouth.

“I, Jojen Reed, do take you, Bran Stark, to be my lawfully wedded husband.” He took Bran’s hand then, squeezed it gently. “To have and to hold,  from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health,” Bran swallowed nervously. “To  love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

Bran repeated it boldly, with the exception of transposing their names, of course. 

Rickon stepped forward and offered the rings to Jojen, who chose the one sized for Bran. But before he said the words and slid it on his finger, he took a deep breath and spoke so lowly that only Bran (and potentially the first few rows of guests) could hear. “Brandon Stark, in all my years moving from town to town, from flat to flat, I thought I’d never find a true home, somewhere to settle down. When I moved in with you all those months ago, I thought I’d finally found my home.”

“Jo…”

“Shush, I’m not done.” Jojen chided. “When we visited London last month, I realized something. My home is not here, in Reading, with you. You are my home.” He shook off a sigh, then turned to the clergyman. “I’ve forgotten what I’m supposed to say, sir. I’m sorry.”

“‘With this ring-”

“Ah, yes, yes. ‘With this ring, I thee wed.’” Jojen recited definitively, slipping the ring on Bran’s third finger.

Rickon handed the other to his elder brother. 

Bran could barely hold back his smile. “I love you too, Jojen Reed.” He whispered. “With this ring, I thee wed.” He copied the action on his fiance, squeezing his hand slightly once the golden band had found its permanent place.

“Then by the powers vested in me by God, I do declare you husbands under British law. Mr. Reed, you may now kiss your-”

The clergyman barely got to finish before Jojen was leaning down and capturing Bran’s lips, parting them subtly with his tongue and deepening it almost immediately.

Bran blushed at the forwardness of such a sacred kiss, but indulged his fian- husband, that’s right, Jojen was his husband now- anyway.

Jojen pulled away after a lingering moment, and Bran took his left elbow for safety while Hodor pushed him back down the aisle, towards the registrar.

Jojen took a deep breath before signing their marriage certificate, his hands shaking.

“Are you alright?” Bran whispered.

“I’m… Bran, this is a big moment. For both of us.” He took another deep breath to calm himself and handed the pen to Bran. “Your turn.”

Jojen was right. The moment the pen was in his hand, he felt it- the nerves, the sheer unbelievability of it all. He was married, for both love and prosper. If his father were still alive, he would congratulate him on the sheer unlikeliness of such a match. Even his mother would have to admit he was lucky.

He signed his name with the steadiest hand he could conjure, before returning the pen to its place and taking his husband by the elbow once more. “To our place, at the head of the table?”

Jojen nodded. “For food, and gifts. I can’t wait to see what your brother-in-law has bought for us. I’ve heard many a colourful tale of his gift-giving practises.”

“I’m sure he will not disappoint.” Bran assured him.

The guests seemed to find their places at the tables with relative ease, only a few of the older sort finding difficulty with reading the place cards and their tiny script.

After an untraditionally short meal, guests began approaching the still-eating couple in an eagerness to deliver their gifts.

The first to approach the crest of the horseshoe table was Bran’s mother, Catlyn Stark. She presented her gift, a wreath made for the two of them. “The two figures are you two, of course.” She explained tearfully. “I can't believe one of my youngest babies is the second to get married…” She leaned across the table to kiss both of their cheeks.

“Second?” Jojen whispered when she walked away. “Aren’t Sansa and Robb both married?”

“Robb married for love; she doesn’t count him.” Bran whispered back. “It’s a highly contestable subject in the Stark household.”

“I welcome the drama, if it comes with the privilege of being married to you.” Jojen pecked his cheek affectionately.

Then came Bran’s Aunt Lyssa and her son Robin to present a telescope for Bran, as she knew his love of the sky.

After her approached Cersei Lannister to deliver some fine china, boring and predictable, just like she always was, and after her followed her little brother, Tyrion.

“In contrast to my sister, I've brought you something whimsical and delightful, just like myself.” Tyrion gave them the slightest of bows. “For you, Jojen, This is a croquet set, for you to enjoy on this lovely large lawn of yours, and for you, Bran, if you find that you cannot participate in the festivities, I've brought scotch, aged 56 years by people much more well versed in alcohol than me.”

“Thank you.” Bran rolled his eyes affectionately. 

Next came Loras and Margaery Tyrell, who presented to them a fine set of silver candlestick holders, decorated and adorned with the finest golden trim.

And last was Theon, who presented to them… “Trust me.” Theon assured them. “These will make your wedding night, and all the nights to come, ah, smooth sailing, if you know what I mean.” He finished off his presentation with a wink.

Jojen burst out laughing, mostly at the bloodless face of his husband. Bran wished he could bury himself in literally anything to get out of the situation.

Theon had handed them a small simple jar of sexual lubricant, the label on the front proclaiming it ‘scented and soothing’. All of Bran’s blood rushed to his toes. He desperately wished he could disappear.

“Thank you, Theon.” Jojen said politely. “I don’t suppose this comes with the name of a supplier, in case we need to… restock?”

Theon handed over a calling card with a knowing smile.

When the party finally subsided, many hours later, and the remaining slices of wedding cake were handed out to the guests as they left, a few select family members retired to their individual guest rooms, Bran and Jojen were finally left alone.

Bran pecked his husband’s cheek. “Give me fifteen minutes, then meet me in my room.”

Jojen nodded silently in acknowledgement, watching Osha take his husband away silently.

When he’d waited his fifteen minutes, he set down his mostly-empty wineglass on the reception table for the servants to pick up and wandered to Bran’s bedroom.

He clenched his left fist in an attempt to steady his shaking hands. He was already hard in his britches, had been since Bran’s lips brushed his cheek and he realized that tonight would be the night that he could touch Bran as much as he wanted, feel him, kiss him.

He opened Bran’s bedroom door slowly, not sure if Bran would actually be ready or not. “Bran?”

“You can come in.” Bran’s voice seemed unsteady and a bit strange. 

Jojen obeyed and entered, locking the door behind him.

Bran was sitting up in his bed, hands folded on his lap awkwardly. Everything about his posture was uncharacteristic, strange.

“You’ve already changed into your nightgown?” Jojen mused, his eyes lingering on Bran’s entirely clothed figure.

“I thought it might be easier if Osha helped me change ahead of time… among other things.”

“Other things?” Jojen unbuttoned his waistcoat and let it fall to the floor, then untied his trousers.

“Osha mentioned… the pain, if not prepared properly. She was married once, I trust her about these sort of things.” Bran watched Jojen undress until he was in nothing but his nightshirt, which hung halfway to his knees. 

“Would you like me to take it off?” Jojen asked, tugging on the collar of his shirt.

Bran shook his head. “Leave it on, please.”

“Of course.” Jojen came to the side of the bed that Bran did not prefer, assuming it would be his side of the bed now. “...When you say prepared…”

“Apparently, there is a certain amount of stretching that goes into one’s wedding night.” Bran slunk down on his bed until he was laying on his back. “Though she did warn me that I should refresh what I’d done. Would you like to watch?”

Jojen swallowed and nodded, watching every move Bran made, enraptured. The warmth in his body migrated to his face and his stomach, making him hot a queasy mess. 

When he deemed himself ready, he withdrew his fingers and looked to Jojen expectantly. “You can touch me, if you like.” Bran said softly, and Jojen did, one hand laid on his shin and sliding up his leg.

“You’re legs are soft.” Jojen mumbled, mostly to himself.

Bran shook his head. “I can’t feel anything in them.”

“Should I touch you somewhere else, then?”

Bran swallowed. “Whatever you want.”

Jojen let his hand travel up Bran’s leg and divert to his hip, resting there. “You’re stunning.”

“Thank you.” Bran said softly, his eyes following Jojen’s as the other crawled over him, coming to sit on his knees in between Bran’s spread legs and hovering over him.

“Are you scared?” Jojen asked softly.

Bran shook his head and took a deep breath, not wanting to hyperventilate or panic. “A bit nervous.”

“Me too.” Jojen admitted softly. His thumb brushed the spot next to Bran’s eye. “You have beautiful eyes, Bran Stark.”

“I do?”

“They were what first drew me to you. How deep and imploring they were, begging me to ask every question I ever had.” Jojen’s other hand, the one not cupping his face, wandered under his nightgown and pressed into his slick entrance; it let him in easily, and Bran inhaled suddenly. “I’m sorry, I-”

Before he could withdraw, Bran’s hand was clamped tight around his wrist, keeping him in place. “No, stay there. You just… cold hands.”

“Oh.” Jojen blushed ever so slightly. “Sorry.”

Bran let go of him, knowing he wasn’t going anywhere, and laid his arms to rest at his sides. “I think I’m ready. I feel ready.”

Jojen nodded his understanding and rucked up Bran’s nightclothes to about his waist without revealing anything. Jojen lifted Bran’s hips and held his own manhood for a moment so he could find Bran’s entrance, and, once found, eased just the tip of his cock in.

Bran gasped when he felt the intrusion, and Jojen immediately stopped. He opened his mouth to ask if Bran was okay, but the other shut him up with a pleading look and a silent nod, encouraging him on. Jojen slid in a few inches more, watching Bran’s face for any indication that it was too much. Bran flinched once or twice, but encouraged him not to stop.

Jojen met the slightest of resistance when he was fully sheathed, and he paused, drinking in the feeling of Bran around him. His head dropped to the crook of Bran’s neck, the other’s hair brushing his cheek.

Bran’s hands wandered up, one to cup the back of Jojen’s neck and the other placed firmly on his bicep, for lack of anywhere else to put it. “You… you can move. Please move.”

Jojen nodded and slowly began to roll his hips. He moved one of Bran’s legs up and hooked it around his waist, all the while gradually increasing the pace of his thrusts.

Bran squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip, willing himself not to cry out in absolute ecstasy.

Jojen hand gripped his hip, that he could feel, and that powered his undulations even farther. Without losing pace or even stopping, Jojen pulled back, sitting back on his knees slightly, and looked down at Bran. “Am I… am I doing everything right?”

The hand in his hair tightened to a fist, and Bran dragged his husband down into a bruising kiss. “Don't stop.” He begged, his spine arching in an attempt to meet every thrust. “F-fuck, Jo-”

Jojen bit Bran’s bottom lip roughly as he pounded into him, muffling Bran’s shouts of his name and god’s alike with his own mouth and the constant rattle of the bed frame cracking against the wall.

He only let go of his lip to bury his face in Bran’s neck and let out his own cry when the tightness in his belly finally loosened and a wave of pleasure washed over him.

Bran’s nails raked over the back of his nightshirt and he echoed Jojen, his own orgasm having followed soon after.

Jojen wilted from exhaustion, first pulling out of Bran and then laying his head on the soft linen of Bran’s nightgown. 

Bran was still staring at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. “Wow…” He sighed.

“Wow.” Jojen echoed, closing his eyes and listening to the rhythm of Bran’s heartbeat, minding how it gradually grew slower as Bran regained his breath. He took Bran’s hand and entwined their fingers, laying them next to his head on Bran’s chest. 

After a long, drawn out moment of comfortable silence, Bran finally spoke. “I had no idea you were capable of any of that, what with your doe eyes and tender face.” He chuckled.

Jojen examined their entwined fingers in the moonlight that streamed in the bedroom window. “Neither did I, to be perfectly honest. It was my first time as well.”

Bran’s chin folded up so he could blink at Jojen incredulously. “Not once? Whatever were you doing all that time in the city?”

“I was hard at work, building up my family's name.” Jojen scoffed. “And now I've gone and ended the line by taking yours.”

Bran rolled his eyes. “I rather like Jojen Stark. It has a lovely ring to it.”

“What about Bran Reed? It’s simple, nice and short.”

Bran shook his head. “It’s entirely wrong. Jojen Stark has a nice combination of hard consonants.”

Jojen laughed heartily, finally sitting up enough to look into Bran’s eyes.

“Jojen?”

“Yes, my love?”

Bran shivered at the term in absolute joy. “I’m sticky.”

Jojen glanced down at the wet spot on the front of Bran’s nightgown, and could only imagine what sort of mess he’d left behind inside his poor husband. “I’ll get a wet cloth.” He pecked Bran’s cheek before climbing out of bed and heading for the door. Upon opening it and glancing down, he found that a bowl of water and a dry cloth had been left on the floor, along with a note. He hummed and brought it back to Bran, handing him the note and taking the bowl and cloth for himself. 

“I’d tell you to keep it down… but this is your house…” Bran struggled to read aloud as Jojen wiped down his soft, pale skin. He couldn’t help but smile when Bran shivered at the touch, either out of bashfulness or unpleasant temperature of the water. “Osha’s handwriting is damn hard to read.”

Jojen chuckled softly and finished wiping Bran down. “Did I miss anywhere?”

Bran shrugged. “Just… uhm, inside.” He turned his face away from Jojen, trying to hide his embarrassment. “You can leave it.”

“Bran, if you want me to-”

“Leave it!” Bran barked, surprising even himself. 

Jojen set down the bowl silently and rounded the bed to his own side, laying down next to Bran stiffly. 

Several minutes passed in absolute silence, so much so that Jojen suspected that Bran may have fallen asleep, if he hadn't broken said silence with “I'm sorry.”

Jojen rolled over onto his side to face Bran. “I just don't understand.”

“It feels… good.” He said softly, reaching across the sheets blindly for Jojen’s hand. “Like you're still there, oddly enough. Ordinarily I'd think it was strange, and I might even ask you to clean me up next time, but it feels… nice. Traditional.”

“Traditional?”

“As in, it's our wedding night. It's good luck if a wedding night results in a child, and I know that's impossible, but... “

“It feels right.” Jojen finished for him, squeezing his hand. “We can be content with each other, right?”

Bran neglected to look at him, only raising their joined hands to kiss Jojen’s knuckles. “We’ll talk about this some other time.”

“Tired?”

Bran nodded at the ceiling and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah it's pretty much nothing but smut and fluff from here on out. I have at least two sexy scenes planned for the next chapter. You have been warned.


	8. Still April, 1842, The Morning of the Honeymoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello naughty readers it's Hurt/Comfort time.
> 
> But also lots of smut because I love you all and what else are our boys going to do on their honeymoon?

**Chapter 8: Still April, 1842, The Morning of the Honeymoon.**

The next morning, at nearly the crack of dawn, Bran woke to the press of soft, warm, wet lips to his throat. He blinked several times, willing himself awake, and threaded his fingers through Jojen’s hair before dragging him up until their lips met.

“Good morning, husband.” Jojen muttered against his lips, grinning like a fool.

“Good morning.” Bran rubbed Jojen’s nose with his own affectionately. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Breakfast, and then a carriage to the train station.” Jojen rolled out of bed and began to dress. “I certainly hope you’ve packed for the honeymoon.”

“I had Osha do it sometime in all the madness yesterday.” Bran sat up and stretched his shoulders. “Mine should be by the door already.”

“I hope she remembered everything.”

Bran smirked. “I gave her a list, of course.”

“Good.” Jojen, now wearing pants, ducked to peck Bran on the lips. “Would you like help dressing?”

“You know I don’t  _ need- _ ”

“I know, darling. It’s just an excuse to touch you that much more.” Jojen hummed, kissing down his neck and pulling his nightshirt aside to plant delicate kisses on his shoulder as well.

Bran pushed him away playfully, giggling. “We’re going to be late for breakfast, and subsequently, the train.”

“Alright, alright.” Jojen laid Bran’s outfit on the bed and returned to dressing himself.

When they finally entered the dining room, conversation silenced. Everyone stared at them, except Sansa, who refused to take her eyes off of her plate.

“Congratulations.” Arya smirked.

Bran rolled up to his spot at the table confidently. “Thank you Arya. I can only hope that you too can experience the joys of marital sex one day.”

Meera barked out a laugh, one with the barest edge of uneasiness.

That seemed to break up the tension around the table, and conversation gradually sparked to life, all of them carefully straying away from the two grooms and their wedding bed the night before.

Finally, they were excused from the familial obligation of breakfast. Hodor was already outside, loading their luggage onto the carriage while they said their goodbyes.

Arya pulled Bran close into a tight hug. “Have fun in Paris.” She whispered in his ear.

Jojen’s ears pricked and he frowned. “Only the best man is to know where we’re going, Bran.” Jojen scolded, immediately turning on his husband.

“I only told my best man.” He grinned over his now-husband’s shoulder at Arya. “I made Arya my best man.”

Jojen rolled his eyes. “Of course, I’d forgotten. Sorry, love.” He pecked Bran’s forehead before stepping back and letting Hodor load him in the carriage. 

“He’s just upset that he couldn’t brag about the greatly extravagant trip that he’s got planned for you.” Arya smirked. “Have fun you two! Write me when you arrive so I know where to send my correspondence!”

“Of course!” Bran promised before being helped into the carriage. “Goodbye everyone! We’ll be back at the end of May!”

~*~

The train had only just begun to move when Jojen disappeared from their private cabins with less than a word to his husband.

Bran didn’t mind. They would be on the train for the better part of the day, and while he and Jojen were close, he feared the possibility that they might run out of things to talk about on this long and boring ride.

Hence, he’d brought a book.

Bran leaned back in his seat on the train, trying to get comfortable without his chair.

He pouted. This situation was less than ideal. Their bags were in the cabinet above, his book in the bag, and the bag out of reach.

That didn’t mean that he didn’t try. He tried boosting himself with one hand on the arm of the chair, reaching as high as he could. He groaned with the effort of it all.

“I’ve always been amazed by your incredible upper body strength.” Jojen said from behind him, startling him into dropping himself. “It’s rather sexy.”

“Where did you go off to?” Bran asked, still a bit breathless from the fright.

“I went to the dinner carriage.” Jojen answered, taking his seat across from his husband. “Got us some champagne.”

He set a bottle on their table, as well as two glasses.

“Oh Jojen.” Bran cooed playfully. “Ever the romantic.”

“Don’t pigeonhole me, darling.” He chided, Pouring each of them a glass of champagne. “If there weren’t windows on the doors to our compartment, I’d be stripping you down at this very moment.”

“Still romantic.” Bran took his glass from his husband and sipped from it. “So, what’s first on the agenda?”

“First is checking in to our hotel. We’ll hardly have any time to do anything by the time we arrive.”

“Are you sure?”

Jojen shook his head. “We could get dinner, but we’ve already paid for it here. And I’m sure you’ll be exhausted, as will I. Would you like me to get your book? I saw you struggling for it.”

~*~

The moment their hotel room door shut behind them, Jojen’s bags were on the floor and his mouth was on Bran’s in a heady, passionate kiss.

Bran’s tongue slid against his instinctually, nimble fingers swiftly unraveling his cravat and tossing it aside before attacking the buttons underneath. Jojen shucked his jacket quickly and gripped Bran by the ass, lifting him out of his chair and wrapping his legs around his waist. 

Bran gave a surprised yelp, but didn’t break contact, only gripped tighter, nails biting through the fabric and into his husband’s shoulders. 

Jojen tossed him onto the hotel bed, ripping his shirt off before doing the same to Bran’s trousers. He balanced Bran’s ankles on his shoulders and produced the jar of lubricant from his pants pocket, dipping his fingers in it before tossing it to the bedside table.

“You didn’t let me do this last night.” Jojen growled, pressing his lips to Bran’s ankle.

“I thought you’d be disgusted by it.” Bran avoided eye contact.

Jojen dropped his legs off of his shoulders and took Bran’s chin in his left hand. “Don’t.” He turned him until their eyes met. “There is an intimacy in this I had been dreaming about since the first time I had you on my knees.”

Bran’s breath caught in his throat. He sat up ever so slightly, trying for a kiss, but Jojen was already on his knees, nuzzling at Bran’s balls. He swallowed in anticipation.

His first finger breached his entrance and Bran whimpered breathlessly, one hand winding its way into Jojen’s hair. Jojen took this as permission to suck the head of Bran’s burgeoning cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around him while he gently stretched him open

Bran moaned quietly when he felt Jojen press against his hole with a second slicked finger. “Fuck, come on Jo,  _ please, _ ” He begged.

Jojen grunted before forcing himself into Bran roughly.

Bran opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, he felt Jojen press into him, the burn of being stretched sending pleasant shiver down his spine and drawing a loud moan out of his mouth. “God, fuck, Jo.” He whined his tongue sticking out to wet his lips while his head fell back against the bed. “Fuck, so good.”

“Keep going?” Jojen fingers kneaded Bran's ass as he continued to sink into him.

Jojen held him close until he determined Bran was adjusted properly, kissing him back before finally starting a slow roll of his hips. Jojen gasped, moving his hands to grip  Bran's hips and aid him in his thrusting.

“Yeah,”  Bran panted, resting one hand on Jojen shoulder and digging his fingers into the skin. “Don’t you dare stop.” He mumbled, clenching around Jojen’s cock and moaning as he pounded into him.

Bran panted at his throat, trying to muffle his moans, clenching around the man and digging his fingers into his shoulder. It was the middle of the afternoon at a nice hotel, and who knew how thin these walls were. It wouldn’t be proper to scream his husband’s name like he so desperately wanted to do.

Jojen pinned him to the mattress to get deeper, fucking into him harder and harder.

Bran cried out in pleasure, hooking his hands under his knees and spreading his legs wider for Jojen, arching his back up from the mattress. “Fuck, Fuck, Jojen.” He gasped, dragging his fingers down the man’s back as he just let the man fuck him hard and rough, clenching around him and loving every second of it.

Jojen pounded into him in three short bursts,  _ one-two-three _ , holding on the last thrust and shoving in deep before repeating the pattern once more.

The bedframe rattled in time  _ smack-smack-smack-pause-smack-smack-smack _ .

Bran let go of one of his knees so he could wrap a hand around his too-sensitive cock, squeezing so he wouldn’t cum just yet.

Jojen smacked at his wrist until he let go. “None of that. I want to see you cum from me and my cock alone.”

The huskiness of Jojen’s words and that third, brutal thrust sent Bran ever the edge, spilling onto his nice traveling shirt.

It didn’t take much for Jojen to follow close behind, lubricant and cum spilling over onto his trousers, the nice ones he’d been in too much of a frenzied, lustful hurry to take off entirely. 

He continued thrusting into Bran, long and slow while they both came down from their highs. He kissed his neck gently, whispering sweet nothings. 

“You’ve ruined our clothes.” Bran chuckled breathlessly.

“I’ll buy you new ones.” Jojen pressed a chaste kiss to his temple as he pulled out. “Would you like me to clean you up this time, or do you insist on carrying my seed around in you like a hopeful young woman?”

A shiver ran up Bran’s spine at the comparison. “N-no, leave it for now. Come, lay with me.”

Jojen obeyed, crawling up behind him and pressing his chest to his husband’s back. “I love you.”

Bran was asleep before he could return the sentiment.

~*~

“ _ Bon apres-midi, _ M. Reed.” The Maitre’d greeted him by name the moment they entered the restaurant. “Would you like indoor or outdoor seating this evening?”

“Indoor.” He answered simply. “Is Olenna here?”

The Maitre’d bowed his head and lead them to the table in the very center of the room, where an elderly woman wrapped in the greatest finery sat, a glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Her face brightened when she saw them approaching. “Jojen Reed! What are you doing here? We weren’t expecting you for another few months.”

“I’m here for pleasure, Olenna, not business this time.” Jojen greeted her by taking off his hat. “And it’s Jojen Stark, now, actually.” He corrected, taking off his left glove to show off his wedding ring. “This is my husband, Brandon Stark IV.”

“We’re on our honeymoon.” Bran smiled. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

She put down her cigarette to greet him properly. “Please, both of you, sit. Tell me all about this great romance of yours.”

Bran let Jojen and Olenna catch up on business for a few minutes, sipping the wine their waitress had brought them and listening.

“Wait…” She hummed. “ _ You _ were the Stark wedding slated for the end of April?”

Jojen nodded.

She howled out a laugh, slapping the table in a quite unladylike display. “My grandchildren attended your wedding! I sent my regrets, my health was not up to a rough train ride and a trip to the country like that. Did you get my gift?”

“What did you send?” Bran asked. “Perhaps I’ll remember.” 

“For some reason I thought it was one of your sisters that was to be wedded. I sent over twenty yards of blue dyed linen! You can imagine my embarrassment.”

“What a lovely gift, thank you.” Bran assured her. “My eldest sister, Sansa, loves to make gowns and coats and other such things, I’m sure I will come home to a whole new wardrobe thanks to you and her.”

“So, how did you two meet?”

Jojen took over from there. “It was a marriage of convenience at first, if I’m honest, Olenna. But Bran is eternally charming, and handsome,” He took his husband’s hand and kissed it sweetly. “I couldn’t help but fall in love with him.”

Olenna smirked. “Young love. I remember that same look in my husband’s eyes.”

“How is your husband?”

“He’s running the business in the same way that I’m lounging around our Parisian apartment, wasting all of his money.” Her smirk widened, like the cat that had caught the mouse.

Jojen returned her smirk with his own level of demureness. “That is to say, he’s in the apartment spending all of your money.”

She tapped her nose. “But we can’t lay claim to that in public, now can we?”

“I don’t see why not.” Bran interjected. “You’re a woman with a successful business. I’m a man with a husband who will probably end up providing for me for the rest of my life. Each has its merits.”

“I like him.” Olenna stage-whispered to Jojen. “Where did you find him, again?”

“In his drawing room, shortly before his sister introduced us. I told you all about this, Olenna, I’m sure.”

She shook her head.

“I haven’t? Well, when I was out looking for potential land prospects for the new factory, one I was hoping to cut you in on, and…”

Bran tuned his husband out as he regaled the entire saga of how they met and fell in love. Bran was there for most of the story, plus  _ food _ had just arrived, and they’d hardly eaten all day. 

In fact, they’d spent the majority of the morning having a lie in, Bran nuzzling Jojen’s shoulder and kissing down his back while he read in the morning light.

He devoured his dinner eagerly, while his husband and his husband’s friend chatted over their own meals.

“Well, as lovely as this dinner was, I’m afraid we must be going.” Jojen finally said over their dessert wine and Creme Brulee. “I look forward to seeing you in england before the year is out. Bran, I hope you don’t mind that Olenna stays with us when she comes to visit the factory.”

“I’m sorry,” Bran mumbled, mouth full of baked cream and sugar. “Why is Olenna visiting the factory?”

“Well, the toys are selling well enough in london without the need for another factory, so, Olenna convinced me to produce her textiles in my factory.”

Bran’s brow furrowed. “When was this?”

“Maybe a month or two ago? Jojen shrugged, looking to Olenna. “Was that around the last time we visited each other?”

Olenna nodded.

Bran’s furrowed brow spread to his downturned mouth. Something was off here.

~*~

It was beyond Bran how Jojen had found to box tickets for the opera at the very last minute, but if there’s anything he’d learned over the course of the last week or so of their honeymoon, it was that his husband was very well-travelled. 

_ The Marriage of Figaro _ had apparently sold out several days before, but something about the awkward hug that Olenna had given Jojen on their way out of the restaurant had seemed strange. He could only assume she’d slipped them this little present.

It was about halfway through the third act when Bran chanced a glance down and noticed Jojen’s hand lingering on his thigh, fingers drawing circles on his pant leg. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, apparently loud enough for his husband to hear. 

“What’s funny?” Jojen leaned over to whisper. “Did I miss something in the show?”

Bran shook his head. “No, I’m laughing at you.”

Jojen looked seriously offended. “Excuse me?”

Bran pointed at his husband’s hand, still on his thigh. “I can’t feel anything in my legs. We’ve spent at least the last 8 months by each other’s sides.”

Jojen blushed and pulled away. “Right, Right. Sorry, I guess that’s not something that I think about first when it comes to you.”

“Then what does?” Bran whispered back.

“Mostly your eyes.” Jojen shrugged. “Your lips when you smile.”

Bran shook his head lovingly, and dropped his hand into Jojen’s lap, fingers ghosting over the lump in his pants. Jojen gave the smallest inhalation, just enough to urge Bran on. With deft fingers, he unbuttoned the flap on the front of his pants and reached in. He wasn't disappointed when he found Jojen’s cock already semi-hard.

“Oh.” Jojen muttered in surprise. “Bran, what are you-”

Bran shushed him. “It’s rude to talk during the opera.” He whispered, stroking up and adding a little twist to his wrist.

Jojen bit his bottom lip to quiet himself, but the barest hint of a moan still slipped through. He gripped Bran’s arm, stopping him abruptly. “We need to leave.”

“Why?” Bran asked innocently.

Jojen leaned in, his lips brushing Bran’s ear. “I need to fuck you, right now.”

~*~

Jojen lined himself up and started pushing in, hand gripping Bran's cock and stroking gently until he bottomed out, easing him through the initial. "Are you alright?" He managed to say between moaning at his tight heat.

Bran's eyes, having been shut tight, flew open in ecstasy. "Holy shit, Jo."

"Good?" He breathed, free hand lacing with Bran's and holding as he started shallowly thrusting.

"So good. So, so good." Bran mumbled, glancing to Jojen's face briefly before closing his eyes once more. "You, you can go a little faster." He automatically bit his lower lip.

Bran moaned softly into his pillow as Jojen spread his legs wider and thrust deeper, his lips lingering on Bran’s bare shoulder, hot breath clouding his senses, only to have another of Jojen’s thrusts bring him to the surface once again.

Jojen leaned up and kissed Bran’s spine as he thrust even harder into him, breathing heavy. "Bran..." Jojen moaned against his skin.

"You... You do too- oh!" Bran vocalized in surprise when Jojen's cock brushed his prostate, light flashing behind his eyelids at the sensation.

Jojen paused his pounding to aim at that spot before resuming, hitting just that spot with practiced ease. He mumbled incoherently as he sucked a mark into Bran's shoulder blade.

"Jo- Jo- fuck, Jojen, I-" He shook his head, at a loss for words. He managed to get a hand around his own cock and jerked it rough and dry, wanting some kind of release, no matter what.

Jojen swatted Bran’s hand away and used the hand that had a bit of lube left on it to quickly jerk Bran. "Fuck, Bran. I want you."

"I'm close, Jo, I'm close, I'm-" Bran repeated breathlessly before cumming all over Jojen's hand in short powerful spurts that seemed to last hours and minutes simultaneously.

Jojen leaned up and kissed Bran as he came, thrusting faster as Bran clamped down on him, following soon after Bran. Once they were both finished, Jojen collapsed. "Holy..."

Bran rolled onto his back, only for his husband to lay on his chest, wrapping one arm around his waist.

“It is so much warmer in Paris than at home.” Jojen mumbled, rubbing his sweat-slick hair into Bran’s neck. “Don’t you think-”

“Why did you ask me to marry you?” Bran interrupted.

“What? Bran, you were there, I need the land, and you-”

“Then why not  _ buy _ the land with the money you so  _ clearly _ have? Or to a further extent, why buy the land at all? The toys were doing fine, you didn’t need another factory.”

“Bran, I-” Jojen pulled away from him, sitting up.

“And on that note, who would you get to work in the factory? No one lives near enough to me that would need to work in the factory, and the ‘build it and they will come’ logic doesn’t really work here, so what is it? Have you been lying to me, or did I marry possibly the stupidest man in all of the British empire?!”

Jojen was practically on the edge of the foot of the bed. “I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

Bran pursed his lips, crossed his arms, and waited very patiently for Jojen to finish all on his own.

Eventually, Jojen spoke up again. “Bran,” He said softly into the darkness, his voice tremor having calmed significantly. “Do you remember when I told you why I chose you over Arya?”

Bran nodded, not caring until he’d heard a decent explanation. “I remember you saying something about not being interested in women.”

“Which isn’t entirely untrue.” Jojen took a deep breath. “What I didn’t tell you was that while I am predominantly attracted to men, I was fully prepared to push that part of me aside.”

“What do you mean?” Bran shifted so he could look at Jojen and be partially balanced on his side.

“I mean that I had every intention of proposing to Arya that day.” Jojen’s fingers wandered until he found Bran’s chin, which he tilted up until their eyes met in the scant light. “Until I saw you, that is. I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that not only were you of a like mind, you were the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Bullshit.” Bran Spat. “You can’t have known from a look. How did you know?”

A pregnant pause hung between them.

Jojen swallowed. “I read your book.”

Bran frowned. “My book?”

“Your book. About the detectives who talk to ghosts and can read minds. Basic cases but they fall in love? It was very homoerotic.”

Bran stared at him. “How the  _ fuck…? _ ” He sat up fully, moonlight streaming in from the window and highlighting his face. “Arya must have told you. Or she told Meera and Meera told you.”

Jojen shook his head, now very confused as well. “No one told me, I read it.”

“How did you find it? I hid it years ago, were you snooping through my things?”

“No, no Bran, I promise. I would never go through your things!”

“Then how did you read it!?” 

“It was on the table in the department store! I asked the shop girl about it, and she said it was some paranormal romance detective novel, and as a fan of paranormal detective romance novels, I picked it up. Bought it. Read it.” Jojen swallowed nervously. “I was so comfortable living in this world you’d created, where these two men could galavant about, be in love. And consequently, I fell in love with you.”

Bran shook his head, eyes beginning to mist with distress. “But how? I never published that, I didn’t even finish it. I… I never showed anyone.”

“I don’t know.” Jojen’s voice was shaking. “But I was reading it in a cafe one day after work, and a young woman sat down across from me without invitation. She’d noticed the book and struck up a conversation about it. More specifically, about the author. I gushed about you for hours, and when I’d finally calmed down, she smirked and said she could introduce us.”

Bran stared at him. “You met my sister, didn’t you?”

Jojen nodded. “I told Arya I’d love to meet you, but not as a fan. I figured it would be considered rude or creepy if I told you right away that I loved your work, so I came up with a plan to meet you under the guise of proposing to Arya. I knew she would reject me, but I didn’t care about embarrassing myself in front of you. I just wanted to meet you.”

“So the moment you saw me…”

“I knew you were a homosexual from reading your book, and the moment I saw you I knew I had to make something up, anything to have you in my life.”

“So you  _ proposed?!” _

“You could have turned me down!” Jojen snapped. “I did everything I did out of love for you!”

“You did everything out of love for someone you barely knew.”

“But I know you now!” Jojen protested. “And I love you, Bran.”

He barely noticed the tears that were dripping down his cheeks at a steady pace. “Get away from me.”

“Bran, please.” Jojen tried to take his hand, but Bran pulled away. “See reason, my love.”

“I’ll see reason when I’ve had time to think.” He mumbled, ducking his head so Jojen couldn’t see his face. “Perhaps you should find us passage home for tomorrow.”

“You want to leave early?”

“If I’m going to think about this logically, I can’t be in a setting where I’m romantically predisposed to you. I need to be in my study.”

“Of course.” Jojen said softly, defeated. He slid off the bed and dressed into his nightclothes, something he hadn’t worn since they’d arrived, as they both usually fell asleep immediately after rigorous love-making. “I’ll go speak with the concierge.”


	9. May, 1842

**Chapter 9: May, 1842**

“Oh, it’s so good to have you home again!” Arya squeezed her brother’s chest tightly, barely letting him breathe. “You were gone for  _ weeks!” _

“They were supposed to be gone a month.” Meera said, her arms crossed.

Jojen joined them, setting down one of their smaller trunks. “Paris was lovely, Arya, in case you were wondering.” 

She kissed his cheek after she was done with her brother. “I’m sure it was.”

Sansa sauntered into the foyer, arms crossed over her chest. “And did you actually get to see any of the city?”

“Most of it, in fact.” Bran drew the line just before sticking his tongue out at his sister. “I feel like we ate in more places than we saw art or operas. Although there was a bit of that as well.” 

“We’re glad you’re home, regardless.” Sansa pat his hand before heading back in the general direction of her room. “You’ll have to tell us all about it over dinner.”

“Sansa.” Arya drew her sister’s attention back. “Isn’t there anything you’d like to  _ share _ with your brothers?”

Jojen cocked his head curiously. “Did something happen while we were gone?”

“I finished the dress I’ve been working on.” Sansa shrugged. Arya clicked her tongue, implying that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “I started two new needlepoint projects! One of them is for you, Bran, I’ve begun to embroider these pillow cases-” 

Arya cut her off with a sharp tsk. “Sansa, if you don’t tell them, I will.”

“Good, less for me to say.” Sansa huffed and marched from the hall to her room, slamming the door behind her and shouting “My husband has finally agreed to divorce!” as she went. 

Arya rolled her eyes.

None of this seemed like the appropriate response to such terrible news, in Bran’s opinion; he gawked at them.

“Apparently they were horrible together, just horrible.” Arya finally explained. “Probably why she spent most of her time here. And if the secret letters that Meera and I found in her room are any indication, she’s already gone off and met someone new. Had to be recent, by our speculation, as there are only a few letters back and forth, and most of them seem rather flirtatious, yet exploratory-”

“You and my sister went through her things?”

“We waited a whole week after you were gone, out of respect. I mean, we’re not animals.”

Jojen rolled his eyes. “What does us being gone have to do with anything?”

Meera shrugged. “Ask Arya, it was her rationale.”

Arya smacked her shoulder. “You shrew, it was yours and you know it!”

Bran rolled his eyes and took his sister’s hand. “Arya, do you mind if I speak to you for a moment? In private?”

“Of course, as long as you’re not going to ask me about any strange things you and your husband did to each other.”

He lead her to his study and waited for her to shut the door before confronting her. “So, you set this all up?”

She shrugged. “I’m not saying I introduced Sansa to Margaery with that intention, but I-”

“Not Sansa. My marriage.”

She smirked. “So he finally told you, huh?”

He frowned. “You-”

“Look, Bran, you can be mad about this all you want, but I found you a husband that loves you, that you love in return. Isn’t that worth all the subterfuge?”

“You’d think Sansa’d be the matchmaker out of all of the Stark children.” Bran said after a long pause. “No one could guess it’d be you.”

She knelt next to his chair, folding her arms and resting them on the arm, then rested her head in the crook of one elbow. “So you’ll forgive me?”

He smirked. “Maybe one day. Go play with Meera, you loon.”

Arya grinned, kissed his cheek, and stood.

“Oh, one last thing, Arya?”

She turned at the last moment, barely around the corner of the doorframe. “Yes Bran?”

“Never read through my journals without my permission again.”

She winked. “Of course.”

~*~

It only took Bran a month to get bored.

Jojen noticed this in about mid June, when he came home from work to find his husband moping in the den, poking a puzzle piece into place idly. He sauntered up behind Bran and kissed the side of his cheek sweetly. “Hello, love. How was your day?”

“Miserable.” Bran grumbled, flicking the piece away. It landed on the floor somewhere, somewhere he’d never be able to get to, but he could care less at this point. Maybe it would make for a mildly interesting adventure for the next day.

Jojen frowned. “Miserable? Why’s that?”

“With Meera and Arya occupying each other’s more dangerous hobbies, Osha tending to Rickon, Hodor being useless at conversation, Sansa off exploring an engagement to Olenna’s grandaughter or whoever, and you at your work all day long, I’m bored! I’ve got nothing to do all day but read or do puzzles and sway myself away from drowning myself in the bathtub!” Bran barked, turning away from the table to face his husband.

Jojen, stunned, fell to sit in one of the plush chairs across from him. “Bran, I had no idea you-”

“Well, I didn’t exactly say anything, did I?” Bran snapped. He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Shit, Jojen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. It’s not your fault that I’m not amused. Plus, you have work to do. Entertaining me all day isn’t your primary concern.”

Jojen reached across the gap between them, laying a hand on Bran’s hand. The other didn’t recoil, so that was a good sign. “It may not be my primary concern, but I’m still worried about you. I couldn’t imagine my life without you, Bran.”

“I wouldn’t leave you out of boredom, Jojen.”

“But you would drown yourself.”

Silence hung heavy between them.

Jojen shook his head, disregarding it to the best of his ability. “What about before? What would you do when Sansa was away, or when Arya was training with Sandor?”

Bran thought about it for a moment before answering. “I liked to learn. Any books about anything I could get my hands on. I especially loved astronomy. I’d sit outside for hours, just staring at the sky. Mapping out constellations, learning the history of them.”

The smallest smile crept onto Jojen’s face. “You like the stars?”

Bran nodded. 

“You know, I don’t have to work tomorrow. We could stay up tonight. Lay outside.”

Bran brightened at that. He didn’t need to say anything, Jojen was already out of his seat and rushing to a chest in the corner of the room. “I’ll go set out a blanket! We’ll be just in time for the sunset, right?”

Bran nodded, trying to hide his affectionate smile.

He followed Jojen as he dashed about the house, collecting some supplies for dinner, apparently planning some sort of bizarre picnic.

Jojen helped Bran out of his chair and onto the blanket, handing him a finger sandwich and a cup of tea.

Bran set them both aside almost immediately. “Where would you like me to start?”

Jojen laid on his back, tugging at Bran’s wrist. He followed suit. Jojen pointed up to the sky. “Start with that one.”

“That's Orion. He hunted with Artemis for a while before her brother killed him.”

“And what about that one?” Jojen asked, leaning into Bran and pointing to the skies. “With the bright one on the end?”

“ _ Ursae Minoris. _ It’s the little dipper in lay terms.”

“Then why has it got the Latin Name of ‘Small Bear’?”

“A miscommunication with the Americas. They thought her tail looked like the handle of a small ladle.”

“I see, and what about that one?”

Bran squinted at it before deciphering it.

“That's Scorpius. It was sent to kill Orion, that guy from before, and-”

Jojen cut him off with a chaste kiss, one hand spread wide over his cheek. Bran made some sort of aborted noise as an ending cap to his statement. Jojen straddled his hips, easing the strain on both of their necks, and caressed Bran’s chest, hands resting on his trouser ties. He kissed down his neck, nuzzled into his chest, and pulled out Bran’s still-soft cock.

It only took a few minutes for Jojen to coax him up to full mast, and by that point Bran was panting and stroking his husband’s dirty blond hair.

“ Jojen…” Bran hummed, his hand tightening in Jojen's hair. “I wanna feel you. Want to see your face.”

Jojen pulled Bran’s cock out of his mouth, looking at him and licking his lips. “I want to ride you.” He concurred. “Work me open?” He fumbled in the pockets of his discarded jacket, trying to grab some slick to hand to Bran.

“Of course.” Bran said breathlessly, sitting up so he could more easily force Jojen’s pants down. “Come, come closer, I can’t reach you, love.”

Jojen obeyed and Bran smeared it over one finger and rubbed it against his rim.  Jojen watched his expression as his hand drifted down and began to fist Bran’s cock, watching his expression and bending to share kisses occasionally. Bran was completely blissed out, head tipped backwards and eyes shut, his fingers operating independently of his control. He slipped his first finger in, trying to be gentle.

Jojen moaned and worked his mouth across Bran throat, hips canting backward automatically.

“Do you… unh, do you want another?” Bran asked softly, in between moans.

Jojen nipped lightly at his throat. “God yes.”

Bran gave it to him, using his other hand to bring  Jojen's face up to his. “Fuck, Jojen, I love you.”

“I love you too. God, I love you.” Jojen kissed him deeply.

Bran tangled his fingers up in Jojen's hair, kissing him with all he has, still stretching him as gently as he could, Jojen moaning against his lips the whole time. Bran rubbed up against him, pressing their bodies flush together, trying to get some kind of friction.

“Fuck, Bran…”

“More?” Bran mumbled cautiously.

“Yes, please, fuck…”

Bran was as gentle as possible with the third, trying not to hurt  Jojen, who only winced slightly. “Sorry.” He apologized, stopping halfway through.

“N-No, keep going.”  Jojen pleaded, stroking Bran’s length again, but with a slightly tighter grip.

Bran accidentally bit the inside of his cheek to hold in the moan, but kept going. “Fuck,  Jojen.”

Jojen whimpered and canted his hips rhythmically until he suddenly pulled himself into a kneeling position over Bran. “I need you inside me. Now.”

“Do it, then.” Bran’s gaze met his, electricity shooting down Jojen’s spine at the look. 

As Jojen started to sink down onto his cock, he moaned. “God, Bran, you’re fantastic.”

Bran hand stroked down his chest and settled on Jojen's hips. “I love you. You make everything so much better, even the good things get better with you.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever have had enough of you.”

Bran smiled up at him, and pulled Jojen down for a single kiss. “I love you. So much,  Jojen, you’re my rock, my world.” Jojen kissed him softly while he finished sinking onto Bran. Bran moaned, embarrassingly loud, and his nails dug into Jojen's sides.

“Shit,  _ Bran _ .”  Jojen gasped.

“Sorry, Sorry, did I hurt you?” Bran pulled his hands away in a flash.

“No, no, it’s good.” Jojen said breathlessly, looking down at Bran with dilated, lust filled eyes. “It’s a good hurt.”

Bran swallowed and licked his lips.

Jojen dropped his head to Bran’s shoulder and slowly started moving his hips. Bran kept one hand in Jojen's hair and moaned breathily into his ear. 

Jojen ran his hands over his torso and his eyes slipped shut. “God, you feel  _ so good.” _

“Fuck, Jojen, you feel amazing, fucking amazing, I can’t tell you enough…” 

Jojen kissed him again. “Fuck, Bran, I love you so much.”

One of Bran’s hands went to his hip to help him. “I love you too. I love everything, can’t get enough.”

Jojen got increasingly breathless as he works himself down onto Bran cock repeatedly. “Fuck, I don’t think I’ll last long.”

Bran shook his head. “Me either, Jo…”

“Will you touch me?”  Jojen asked breathlessly. Bran nodded and responded in a heartbeat, moving to cup Jojen's dick before encircling it with one large hand.  Jojen moaned loudly, his voice echoing up to the stars and started moving faster.

“Shh…” Bran giggled, covering his husband’s mouth. “They probably heard that in the house.”

“I don’t care.” Jojen clamped down on him, fingernails biting into Bran’s shoulders

“Fuck,  _ Jojen _ !” Bran practically shouted as he ejaculated, moving his fist faster to get  Jojen off too. Jojen whimpered and jerked his hips down for a little longer before cumming over Bran's stomach. Bran pulled him down into a heady kiss while coming down from his high. 

Jojen kissed him until he was breathless, head falling to rest in the crook of Bran’s neck. 

“I love you.” Bran whispered into the night sky, holding his husband close.

“I’ve loved you every moment I’ve known you.” Jojen returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! I know it's not Friday but I really wanted to give you guys something for being so amazing through this 9 week journey of ours. I love you all!


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